


What We Become In The Absence

by zen_fox



Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-17
Updated: 2018-07-24
Packaged: 2019-05-23 22:05:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 46,369
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14942198
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zen_fox/pseuds/zen_fox
Summary: Kevin Day, Exy’s former superstar, is now relegated by injury to the lowly position of Assistant Coach for the Palmetto State Foxes. Neil Josten, PSU's newest recruit, has a promising future ahead of him— and a dark past behind him.In the absence of anyone to protect them, what will they become?(An AFTG AU where Andrew never signed for the Foxes, so Kevin never had the backup to return to the court, and Neil never had anyone to dig up his secrets. Will Neil's truth ever out, and will Kevin ever play again?)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Well, here we finally are. Three months ago, I hit 300 followers on [tumblr](https://onlycareaboutexy.tumblr.com/), and offered a 3k fic to one of my followers as a thank-you. [Panifowl](http://panifowl.tumblr.com/) was the lovely person the random number generator pulled out of the hat, and I started work on their request for a Kevineil fanfic. 
> 
> Trouble is, I'm such a Kandreil fanatic that it was hard for me to picture Neil and Kevin together without Andrew if he was in the picture at all, which got me thinking about what their lives would be like without him. Who would they be if he'd never come to PSU? What would they become in his absence? And so we have this AU, which ended up at 45k, and took far longer to deliver than the initially promised fortnight; I can only beg forgiveness, and hope the length balances out the extra time it took to write. 
> 
> My forever thanks to those delightful people who have supported me as I wrote this— you guys know who you are, I hope, and I appreciate your constant well-wishes and kind messages. ❤️

Pop-up Exy courts always make Kevin feel uncomfortable and conflicted.

 

He assumes that's what's setting his nerves on edge as he watches Josten play— What else could it be? It's a difficult mess to untangle for him, so presumably that's responsible for giving him the crawling sense of something _off_ which he can't quite put his finger on.

 

On one hand: that's how the sport started, so they should make him feel closer to his mother— when she played first, it was on a court just like this one. On the other hand: _it's a fucking football pitch_ , so watching kids try to play Exy on it is an annoying embarrassment, since the sport deserves better, and so do the players.

 

Well.

 

Some of the players.

 

Neil Josten is a rare find in a place like this. He has hardly any experience, he's playing with terrible equipment alongside a team who do more to drag him down than support him, and his precision is miles from where it should be, but—

 

 _But_.

 

He runs like the devil is behind him, his passes are quick and sharp and clever, and he is fearless when it comes to tackling both the goal and the backliners. He plays like losing would kill him, stepping onto the court with fire and fury in his eyes; even when they take him off again, that passion remains, and he can't keep his attention off the game in play.

 

In another life, the kid would have been everything Kevin wanted in a partner.

 

In this one, he supposes he'll have to settle for _everything Kevin wants in a protege_.

 

His life is a lot more simple, these days, though in many respects, his activities are quite similar to what they were at Evermore. He goes to the games, the practices, and the meetings... But then he goes home alone to his apartment, a few doors down from his father.

 

There is, of course, one further key difference: these days, his feet rarely touch the surface of the court.

 

Even when they do, everything in him feels profoundly wrong.

 

Still. For however much it might sit badly with him, things _are_ simpler now: the press don't care so much about him anymore, he's removed from the Moriyamas and the complications that brings, and he no longer has to live his life at the end of someone else's leash.

 

There are some blessings, if he can bring himself to count them.

 

Mostly, he can. He just...

 

He just wishes he could count them, and still play Exy.

 

If he's honest with himself, he has to admit to a certain level of envy when it comes to Neil Josten. It comes all too easily to Kevin when he thinks about the life Josten is going to have, the future that Kevin and his father have brought as a gift with them when they came from Palmetto.

 

...Which is why the last thing he's expecting is for the kid to enter the lounge at high speed, somehow even _picking up the pace_ as soon as their eyes meet. His expression melts from horrified into wounded, but his step doesn't falter; he bolts straight through the lounge and into the locker room behind, going so fast that Kevin doesn't even have a chance to speak.

 

His father appears, winded, a moment later, and growls:

 

"Get _after_ him, for fuck's sake!"

 

Kevin's feet are moving before he can nod.

 

He catches the kid —just— as he's making for the back door.

 

"What is _wrong_ with you, Josten?" he asks, and the kid freezes, turning around to look at Kevin with big, startled brown eyes.

 

Kevin is struck with the same feeling —a weird sensation that is almost, but not quite, deja vu— that he'd gotten when he watched the Dingoes play tonight, but he puts it down to the fact that he'd watched Josten's tape so many times that it almost feels like Kevin knows him.

 

He had better know him; Josten is Kevin's first ever pick for the Foxes, and that matters a lot. With the Ravens, he'd had _some_ input into their recruitment choices, but it had been nothing like this, nothing like working side by side with his _father_ to hand-pick the players he wanted to build the foundation of the future of their team.

 

_Their team._

 

The presence of Kevin's reputation, even on the sidelines, has bought Wymack another year or two at the helm of the Foxes, but it won't carry them forever. After last year's disappointment, they are going to need real wins— _soon_ , otherwise they're going to have a fight on their hands, and Kevin can't stand the thought of losing this. For the first time in over a decade, he gets to spend most of his time with somebody who actually cares about him, and even if he can't play, he still gets to shape the sport he loves.

 

He doesn't know what he would do if he lost either half of the fragile structure holding him together right now, but he's willing to bet it wouldn't be good.

 

It hasn't been all plain sailing, of course: the team are lacking in a great many ways, and he and his father have fought _constantly_ , but this right here is the perfect opportunity to prove that Kevin has good instincts about good players.

 

It is the perfect opportunity to set their keystone into place, one Kevin can build a team around.

 

Unless Neil Josten fucks up all his plans, of course.

 

"You're trying to run? You're saying _no_?" He folds his arms across his chest and stares the boy down. "You won't get a better opportunity, you know. I am aware that the Foxes are something of a joke in some respects, but I can promise you that they will only improve from here, and if you think you're going to get a better offer from one of the other teams, I can give you a second promise: you won't. Your inexperience means nobody else will bother to consider you. If we hadn't seen your tape, we wouldn't have considered you, either, and the bigger teams don't need to bother with recent converts from two-bit towns." The reality of his situation makes Kevin's mouth thin a little. "Hopefully in a few years, neither will we, but until then: here we are."

 

The boy looks like he's trying to chew through a series of complicated emotions Kevin doesn't have time to care about.

 

"That's why you're here," he says quietly, and Kevin can only sigh.

 

"What other possible reason could there be? We need you," he admits, and _god_ he hates to say it, but it's true. "We're offering you a place on the line as Starting Striker, Josten."

 

Their defensive line is decent, but as it stands, their offence doesn't merit discussion. Their remaining senior, Gordon, seems completely prepared to torpedo both his own future as well as the team's purely to spite Kevin, and their only other incoming striker is far too lazy to deserve the spot.

 

Granted: Neil Josten doesn't entirely deserve it, either; he is far too inexperienced, for a start, but... With time, they can turn a disadvantage into a strength. Josten has the same raw talent Gordon does, but none of the years of bad habits, and hopefully he'll also have the good sense to recognise someone trying to help him when he sees it.

 

The awed, distressed way he's looking at Kevin now suggests that he just might.

 

Kevin doesn't mind him looking: he's attractive, in a boyish, vulnerable sort of way. It's not Kevin's usual preference —generally he goes for strength and determination— but there's something about him which is undeniably appealing. Maybe it's Josten's talent, or maybe it's just that Kevin himself is vulnerable right now, and it has given him a new perspective.

 

There is definitely something, but right now Kevin has bigger things to worry about than finding their potential recruit _pretty._ His father appears as if summoned by that embarrassing thought, and gives Kevin a long look.

 

"That wasn't the recruitment speech we talked about earlier," he says, dryly, and Kevin can only shrug.

 

"I thought maybe honesty would be the best policy, considering whatever it was _you_ said to him caused him to try to flee the scene on foot."

 

"I wasn't... Fleeing," the kid says, and Kevin and his father exchange a look of pure agreement and understanding. It's new enough that Kevin still finds it heartening every time, but he doesn't have time to think about it now, either, not when Josten looks like he's wavering. 

 

"I _wasn't_ ," he insists, and then the conflicted look creeps back over his features, and he adds, "But this isn't a good idea."

 

He looks as though saying it hurts him.

 

"Objection noted and ignored," Wymack says, and holds the contract out to Josten again. "You have a pen in that bag, or do you need me to give you one?"

 

Josten looks to the bag on his shoulder and clutches it to his body a little more firmly.

 

"I'll have to talk to my parents," he says, and Kevin scoffs.

 

"You're nineteen years old and your Coach says you're sleeping in the locker room."

 

His father digs one elbow into Kevin's ribs.

 

" _Kevin_."

 

"Well, it's _true_ ," Kevin shoots back, meeting Wymack's glare with one of his own. "To hell with his parents— you wouldn't be considering him for this team if they were decent to him." He turns his gaze on Josten then, and finds him looking desperate and hopeful and terrified. Kevin can't understand that— if there were any way back to Exy for him, he would grab it with both hands, so Josten's reticence makes him want to grab the kid's throat with both hands, instead.

 

Unlike him, Kevin will never play again: if he steps so much as one foot on the court, Riko will tear him to pieces.

 

To even be allowed to coach is considered an act of benevolence by his former "brother" and "uncle", a thing made possible only by Kevin's parentage, which makes it seem like a natural fit rather than the desperate flight from the Moriyamas that it really was.

 

They've made their displeasure clear, but they can hardly pull Kevin back from Palmetto when the media has been so enraptured by the story of Kevin's tragic injury and subsequent discovery of his true paternity— by the prospect of the former child star re-discovering not only a new path in life, but a new parent to live it with.

 

If he were to _play_ , though...

 

If he were to play, it would be an entirely different situation: it would be an insult, a challenge, an act of _rebellion_ , and that they would never allow to stand.

 

So Kevin will never play again —a reality that still makes him faintly queasy whenever he thinks about it for too long—because they will kill him if he does. This _child_ , however, this infuriating, idiotic little nobody, can do whatever the hell he wants; his absentee parents more than likely won't care. Even if they did, there's nothing they could do about it, and it's not as though the likes of the Moriyamas will come for Josten if he signs up for the Foxes.

 

He might not be able to choke Josten, he might not even really want to, but he also can't tolerate this offensive stupidity a moment longer, either.

 

" _Sign_ ," he says imperiously, and apparently that's too much for Josten and Wymack both; the kid says _No_ at the same time as his father says _Go wait in the car_.

 

Kevin looks between them for a moment before throwing his hands up.

 

"Fine. But if you can't convince him to sign, _don't_ complain to me when we go out before the third match. Locke and North are god-awful, and _he's_ the only one who could make a passable starting striker," he says, pointing at Josten's startled face before shouldering him out of the way and heading out to the rental car where he can fume privately and quietly about the opportunities he wishes he had, and about idiots who are so stupid as to examine the teeth of any gift horses that should come their way.

 

* * *

 

It transpires, however, that Josten is not quite as stupid as he makes out.

 

For all his reluctance, and his fear, and his arguments, he is smart enough to say yes.

 

Yes to signing for the Foxes, yes to coming to Palmetto early, yes to keeping quiet about his recruitment, yes to additional practices with Kevin— yes to almost everything, in fact... And yet there's still something about him which says no, no, _no_.

 

It's in his eyes when Coach comes too close to him, in his voice when he says _I'm fine_ , in his body when Kevin tells him he'll never make Court if he doesn't work harder. It's in the tiny bag of clothes he locked in his closet, the way he looks first for the exits in every new room, how he has no phone and posts no letters and seems confused when Coach offers him the use of his computer.

 

So, then: not stupid at all. Smart, in fact. Too smart, maybe, or perhaps something else: something watchful and wary and wild...

 

...Something that reminds Kevin of someone else, and something that puts him in mind of Evermore— but whatever his faults, Josten is nothing like Riko or even like Jean, so Kevin can't understand why it's dark corridors and high towers he continues to picture when he thinks too hard on it. Nothing more concrete than that ever comes; no matter how hard he tries, it just slides away from him, like oil over water.

 

It really is the most annoying sensation, reminiscent of when he has forgotten what book he read a fact in, or what name was associated with a portrait he'd once liked: the kind of thing where a librarian or computer can be of little help, and as the days wear on, it begins to eat at him a little.

 

* * *

 

They don't talk, much.

 

Kevin collects him from Abby's for practice, they drive to the court, and Kevin shouts orders at him until Josten's reached the point of exhaustion and Kevin has to call him back. It's half-impressive and half-insufferable. He admires that the kid has enough spirit to keep pushing, that he's thirsty enough for improvement that he's prepared to break himself to achieve it— But. _But_. It's annoying as hell that he doesn't know where his boundaries are, that he doesn't respect his own limits or take care of himself, that he needs _Kevin_ to tell him when to quit before he blows out his arms or ends up unable to walk for days.

 

It probably shouldn't surprise him that the annoyance wins out over the admiration.

 

Watching Josten try on the goal and fail for the third consecutive time because he doesn't have the stamina to continue is infuriating— more for the fact that he doesn't know when he's beaten than the fact that he's nowhere near where he should be at this point in his career, and Kevin just can't _take_ it any more.

 

He shoves open the door and strides across the court to where Josten is standing with his racquet held loosely in his hands, and tugs it away from him; he's so tired that it takes barely any effort at all.

 

"No," he says. Josten glares at him and reaches for his racquet again, but Kevin holds it up out of his reach, and it's only then that he realises this is the first time he's held a racquet in his hands since that night at Evermore.

 

The shock of it almost makes him drop the thing on their heads— his hand still aches when he moves it the wrong way, and he can see the fresh scar on the back of his hand even now, but there is no denying that the weight and shape of it feels perfectly right in his hands. Something else must show on his face, though, because the anger bleeds out of Josten's face immediately, replaced by concern.

 

"What's wrong?" And then— "Is it your hand?"

 

" _My_ body isn't the one you should be concerned about," Kevin snaps, as much to change the topic of conversation as to make a legitimate point. " _You're_ the one in danger of injuring yourself."

 

"I'm fine," Josten says, and this time, nearly hitting him with the racquet is deliberate rather than accidental; only sheer strength of will keeps Kevin from it.

 

"You are not fine," he says, resting the butt of the racquet on the floor. "Your arms are shaking. Your last three shots have been nothing short of pathetic. I relieved you of your racquet with barely any force at all— if I'd been a backliner with a racquet of my own—"

 

"But you're not," Josten shoots back hotly, because apparently he has no more sense of his limits when it comes to his mouth than he has about the rest of him. "You're barely even able to hold a racquet yourself."

 

That's not true, exactly— it was the shock that had caused Kevin's hands to falter, not the injury, but he has exactly zero intentions of telling that to _Neil Josten_.

 

"The difference is that _you_ will be on the line-up when the season starts, so it's _your_ performance that matters," Kevin grinds out, and he's proud of the fact that he didn't hit Josten with either the racquet or his fist; instead, he only points at the door. "Get off my court; you're useless to both of us right now."

 

Josten looks like he might argue for a moment, but there is no denying the truth of Kevin's words, so he only pushes past him and stomps his way to the locker room, banging the door behind him.

 

For the first time in five months, Kevin finds himself standing on an Exy court with a racquet in his hands— and for the first time in his _life_ , he finds himself there alone.

 

It's overwhelming to the point where he can't even figure out if he feels good or bad, and if being free of the fear of Riko is worth the loss of his life's purpose. Which is better: living with the constant fear of dying, or living with the constant fear of _wanting_ to die?

 

Trying to figure out an answer to that question sends anxiety spiking through him, hot in his stomach and his chest, prickling all along his nerves, his muscles tight underneath his skin.

 

He's moving before he thinks about it.

 

The racquet in his hand is the wrong size for him, but it's still a racquet, still an extension of himself that feels more right than anything else. It feels more right than a bare hand, when he gets right down to it, and the immediate thing to do is roll the nearest ball into his net and _swing_.

 

It hits the wall right around the time the ache flares up in Kevin's hand, giving him just enough time as the rebound approaches to think about what he'd said to Josten, both _You are not fine_ as well as _It's your performance that matters_.

 

He's not fine. He's not even close to fine; he's already in quite a lot of pain, just from one simple little action... But then, it's not his performance that matters, is it? It's of no concern to anyone if he pushes too hard and renders himself— What? Incapable of playing? That ship has already sailed, leaving port right around the time the words _You'll never play again, you know_ left Jean Moreau's mouth.

 

If he injures himself, what does it really matter? He'd been attracted to Josten because he played like he had everything to lose, but what happens to a man when he has _nothing_ to lose, when he's lost everything already?

 

In Kevin's case—

 

He catches the ball, ignores the pain flaring across the back of his hand, runs ten step towards the goal, and shoots for another rebound. He catches this one as easily as the last; his aim has suffered from his months off the court, but not by much, and though his body is warning, warning, _warning_ him, he can't help himself: when he catches the next rebound, he shoots on the goal.

 

The buzzer lights up red just as the pain becomes intolerable; he drops the racquet with a pained sound that would be shameful, if anyone were around to hear it.

 

...And so, of course, there _is_ someone around to hear it: when he turns, Josten is standing at the wall, palms flat against the plexiglass, mouth open, staring.

 

Well.

 

Fuck.

 

Kevin picks up the racquet, but Josten's already moving, beating a path to the court door and flinging it open.

 

"What," he starts, then can't seem to find a way he'd like to finish that sentence, so he just gestures wildly for a second before spitting out—

 

" _You can still play_."

 

—like it's an accusation.

 

Maybe it is.

 

In fact, it definitely is, based on the way Josten's looking at him.

 

"I was half a foot off where I was aiming for. I hardly think that counts, though I can see why you might think it would," Kevin says, though Josten doesn't rise to the bait, just continues to stare at him, angry confusion bleeding away into horror.

 

"Why?"

 

He doesn't say any more than that, and he doesn't need to. Kevin can finish the thought all by himself, and though he knows all the answers, they're still questions he asks himself sometimes.

 

_Why aren't you training? Why aren't you in physical therapy? Why does everyone think you're benched for life? Why aren't you playing? Why haven't you gone back to the Ravens?_

 

"It's complicated," Kevin says, but Josten brushes that aside as the pathetic excuse that it is.

 

"No amount of _complicated_ should keep you off the court," he says hotly, and then his expression softens. "Kevin. You were the best player in the country— if not the _world_ ," he says, and the earnestness in his expression and the truth of his words hit Kevin like a rebound, knocking him off balance.

 

He feels suddenly sick, gripping the racquet tightly enough that it hurts his hand again, so he shoves it against Josten's chest.

 

"This is yours," he says, and while he's expecting the kid to take the racquet off him, he's not expecting fingers to close around his wrist, holding him in place.

 

"What happened to you?" he presses, stepping right into Kevin's space. "I know you were in an accident—"

 

Kevin can't help the bitter laugh that slips out of him at that, and Josten's face tightens.

 

"—Or not. _Not_ an accident," Josten realises, then immediately loosens his grip on Kevin's wrist and steps back.

 

The increased distance does nothing to make Kevin feel any better: somehow he feels worse, the nausea rising and rising.

 

"Someone did this," Josten says, astonished dismay woven into his tone. "Someone did this _to_ you."

 

"Drop it."

 

Now that Josten's unhanded him, he turns and heads for the court door, but Josten gets there before him, blocking his path.

 

"Kevin, I don't _understand_."

 

"No," Kevin says. "You don't, and you won't, nor do you need to. All you need to do is _play_. Do you understand _that_?"

 

Josten frowns unhappily at him for a moment, then finally steps aside.

 

"Yeah," he says. "I guess I do."

 

Kevin doesn't say anything further to that —doesn't _trust_ himself to say anything further, especially not without throwing up— just goes outside to wait in the car for Josten to shower and change out.

 

* * *

 

It takes exactly four days for Josten's curiosity to overpower his common sense. It shouldn't be a surprise, and it isn't: Kevin had actually been expecting him to crack somewhere on day three.

 

"Tell me," he says, as they ride to the stadium, and Kevin tightens his grip on the wheel.

 

"No."

 

"Tell me," Josten says again, and there is something so urgent and frantic in his tone that for a little while, Kevin actually considers doing it. He is so tired, and so alone, and the words would come so easily to his tongue if he let them.

 

He doesn't let them. Instead, what comes is this—

 

"Why should I? Why should I tell you anything when you never talk about yourself, your past, the reason you almost jumped out of your skin when I walked into the locker room last week? Why is it that you think I owe you truth when you never offer any of your own?"

 

Josten falls silent at that, mulling it over. It's an accusation, and an insult... But it's not entirely a shut-down, either— nor had Kevin meant it to be one. He has, apparently, taken leave of his senses and decided to be monumentally stupid, giving Josten the opportunity to press further.

 

Maybe it will give the two of them an opportunity to _bond,_ as coach and player.

 

Maybe he's just lonely, and finds Josten very pretty.

 

"I've been hurt before, too," he says finally, and it's nothing Kevin didn't know— he'd seen Josten's scars when he'd walked into the locker room a few days before their standoff about Kevin's injury.

 

Kevin hadn't been able take his eyes off them, in fact, though not because he was terribly surprised (the boy was a Fox, after all), or even because they were surprisingly terrible (growing up at Evermore, Kevin had seen far worse injuries happening, much less observed them after they'd healed).

 

He hadn't been interested because he was horrified— what had caught his attention was how Josten had immediately yelped like a kicked dog and grabbed for the towel. He'd been interested because Josten would rather expose his bare ass than let Kevin see the marks on his chest.

 

So _I've been hurt before, too_ is nothing of a revelation, and Kevin has little to say to it. It's a few minutes before Josten's prepared to break the silence again.

 

"You knew that already," he says, and Kevin shrugs.

 

"It seemed the reasonable assumption."

 

"It wasn't with you. The story is that it was a skiing accident, Kevin."

 

"I've never skied in my life," Kevin says, though he keeps his attention on the road. "Such pursuits would never have been allowed; they would have drawn our attention from the court, from our purpose."

 

"You and Riko," Josten says— and then, like it means nothing, adds: "It was him, wasn't it?"

 

Kevin realises too late that this is a stupid conversation to be having in the car.

 

It's one thing to think _I'm being stupid but I don't care to stop_ , and another to hear those words come out of somebody's mouth— to know that _they_ know the truth, that there is no getting it back, that somebody he knows nothing about knows things about him that _nobody_ should know.

 

Panic explodes in his stomach, hot starbursts that twist and tighten, and his throat starts closing.

 

"Kevin?" Josten prompts, and Kevin only just manages to pull the car over before his hands start to shake— only just before the nausea sets in.

 

He pushes out the car door and leans into the road, vomiting and vomiting, the hand clutching at the sill burning more from memory than any real stress or pressure.

 

He's expecting the kid to say something, but he doesn't say a word, just watches as Kevin divests himself of his dinner, then finally hauls himself back inside the car, putting one arm across the steering wheel and resting his forehead on it. He knows nothing will be achieved by him staying there— that no matter how long he remains with his head down, wishing he hadn't opened the door to this conversation, Josten will still know, and Kevin will still have to deal with it.

 

"Yes," he says finally, the word feeling like both the slamming of a cell door and the opening of a very tiny window. "It was him."

 

"I figured," Josten says quietly. "Anybody else, you wouldn't be here."

 

Kevin runs his hands through his hair and notices, to his surprise, that they've stopped shaking.

 

"It was because you were better than him, wasn't it?"

 

Kevin had been expecting _But why?_

 

He hadn't expected that. _Never_ that— it had surprised him even from Thea, and she'd been close enough to him to watch him, to really see him. How could this kid have realised from hundreds of miles across the country, though only Kevin's televised games, when Kevin thought he'd hidden it so well?

 

...Then again, he supposes he couldn't have hidden it as well as he'd intended, otherwise the NCAA wouldn't have come calling, and this wouldn't be his life now.

 

"There's more to it than that, but that's the crux of it."

 

He reaches up to touch the tattoo on his cheek, but that's apparently the final straw for Josten; he reaches up and slaps Kevin's hand away.

 

" _Don't_. Just because he put that on you doesn't make it true."

 

"It's certainly true now."

 

"Does it have to be?"

 

Coming on the heels of smart guesses regards the questions of who broke Kevin's hand and why, _that_ question is so unspeakably stupid that all Kevin can do is shoot him an incredulous look and reach for the keys to re-start the car...

 

...But just like the last time he'd tried to dodge the issue, Josten's fingers close around Kevin's wrist, and he answers his own question:

 

"Kevin. It _doesn't_ have to be."

 

It's the _wrong_ answer, but Josten's voice is so earnest as to be painful. Kevin envies him the simplicity of his situation, of being unburdened with all the problems and knowledge that Kevin has carried most of his life. He could explain, but what would be the point? What would it achieve?

 

"We are not having this conversation."

 

Josten recoils, stung.

 

"Why? Because I won't tell you about my past?"

 

"Because it's not relevant," Kevin says, suddenly feeling too tired to drive to the stadium, to help Josten train, to be alive at all.

 

He'd very much just like to go back to his little apartment beside his father's, and sleep until—

 

He doesn't even have an _until_. This is his life now.

 

Nothing will change that, and he has to find a way to make his peace with it.

 

"It doesn't matter what I tell you," he says, shaking Josten's hand off his arm so he can turn the key, then rev the engine. "Or what you tell me. I can't play any longer. You can. That's what's relevant, and that is _all_ that is relevant."

 

Josten looks pathetically heartbroken at that — _betrayed_ , almost— but he moves back to his own side of the car and turns his gaze pointedly out the window.

 

"Fine," he says, and that's the last word he speaks until he's on the court and running through a series of drills Kevin learned at Evermore, and even then it's only perfunctory responses. Kevin should be relieved he's prepared to let the matter drop, but somehow the cool air between them stings just the same way his hand does when he holds a racquet.

 

* * *

 

"I talked to Coach."

 

This is Josten's opening salvo as he stands in Kevin's doorway at seven in the morning, so Kevin looks up the hallway to his father's door.

 

"Just now?"

 

"No," Josten says, pushing him out of the way so he can invite himself inside, much to Kevin's sleep-fuddled horror. "Last night, after practice. He came to visit Abby after you dropped me off. I asked him to tell me why you wouldn't play."

 

Kevin blinks into the empty hallway for a moment, then shuts the door just so he can have something to lean against while this conversation happens without his desire (or even permission).

 

"I don't believe he'd tell you anything."

 

"You're right: he didn't," Josten says, folding his arms across his chest. "But you can pick up a lot from what a person _doesn't_ say. Riko hurt you, to get you out of the way. So he can be the uncontested champion. You're afraid that if you step back on the court, he'll do it again, or worse."

 

"You didn't need to talk to my father to figure that out." 

 

"No," Josten agrees, then his gaze flicks briefly to the door before he parks himself on the arm of the couch. "I didn't. What I needed from him was to know why you felt sure enough that he could follow through on whatever threats he made that you'd give up your _career_. I know what Exy means to you, Kevin."

 

Kevin can't look at him when he says it, because he says _means_ , like it's present tense, like everything it is to him isn't different now.

 

"And I saw his face when I suggested that maybe I should go talk to Riko—"

 

" _No_ ," Kevin says, looking up immediately, and there's something sharp and smug in Josten's face.

 

"Yeah," he says. "It was a lot like that."

 

"Stay away from him," Kevin says, panic tight in his throat. "I'm serious. I don't need your help, or want it. _Stay away from him_."

 

"Why?"

 

"I said I don't want you interfering!"

 

"That doesn't mean you can stop me."

 

Kevin wants to choke him. He crosses the space between them in three quick strides, but Josten is faster— he's up and moving before Kevin can get there, so Kevin catches him by the shoulders, shoving him back against the wall.

 

"I can and I will. You're not going."

 

Josten struggles in his grip, but he's not strong enough to dislodge himself, so Kevin just bangs him against the wall again and holds him in place with his body. 

 

" _Why_?"

 

"Because he will _kill you_ ," Kevin snaps, and as soon as the words are out, he would give anything —anything at all— to take them back, but he can't, he _can't_ , and Josten's eyes light up with interest and a perverse sort of... Relief?

 

"That's what I thought," he says, then finally manages to wrestle himself out of Kevin's grasp where it had loosened in his shock. "You really believe he can get away with murder. And you've convinced Coach of it, too."

 

Kevin says nothing for a minute, torn between denying it out of knee-jerk instinct and the newer urge to impart to this idiot that it's not a belief: it's a _fact_ , and if he doesn't accept that, he will get himself killed.

 

As it happens, it turns out Josten saves him the trouble of deciding.

 

"I believe you."

 

Kevin lets go of him completely at that, backing up several steps to give himself space to think, because he doesn't know if he should find that terrifying or a relief.

 

Of course, it's only a relief if—

 

"So you're going to stay away from him," he says, and it's not a question.

 

Josten looks a little miffed at that, shouldering him out of the way as he returns to the couch.

 

"I have no intention of going near him," he says. "But I thought it might be the only way I could get Coach to tell me what's going on. He still wouldn't, but at least now I know it's serious."

 

That's interesting, actually— that Josten would believe it so readily.

 

Even with Coach's obvious agreement, even with the knowledge that he was responsible for Kevin's injury, most people wouldn't accept "celebrated star athlete is perfectly capable of murder" as quickly as that, and Kevin's mind flashes back to the words _I've been hurt before, too_.

 

"You said you'd been hurt before," he says slowly, and something sharp and feral shifts behind Josten's eyes, but Kevin chooses to ignore it for now. "Who hurt you?"

 

"Why?"

 

It's something of a comfort to have the shoe on the other foot for once, for Josten to be the one asking _why_ : to be the one frightened by the questions, and whatever truths they are tugging at.

 

"Because you pushed and you insisted and you wouldn't let this go," Kevin says, and he's already talking before the truth behind the words becomes clear to him. "I didn't exactly get a good look at you in the locker room that night, but I saw enough— And you told me yourself that you have experience of violence. You believe it, but not out of faith. Out of experience."

 

Josten's mouth thins out into a neat little line, but he makes no move to contradict Kevin.

 

"So you have two choices: you can let this go, or you can start offering up your own truths before _I_ start digging. You went to my father. Should I go to yours?"

 

" _No_ ," Josten says, annoyance replaced with terror so quickly that Kevin is pretty sure he has has answer. "Don't— Kevin, you _can't_ —"

 

His panic is so swift and sad that Kevin can't bring himself to let the ruse sit any further; he holds up a hand and cuts across him.

 

"I'm not going to," he says, and Josten sinks against the couch in relief. "But from your reaction, I'm guessing that answers my question."

 

"Is it enough?" Josten says, hope lighting up his eyes for a minute before he catches sight of Kevin's expression.

 

"Was it enough for you? To just know _who_? You even know how and why, and that doesn't seem to be sufficient."

 

"I don't know how," Josten says, and then immediately looks regretful. "And I'm not asking," he says, hastily. "You don't have to tell me, Kevin."

 

"He stamped on it," Kevin says, and the way he presses his hand to his chest and cradles the back of it with the other is reflexive. It's weak and stupid and he hates it, but he can't help himself— and how Josten is looking at him in a sort of awed horror doesn't help matters any. "There was... The NCAA approached the Ma— Our coach," Kevin corrects quickly, hoping he didn't notice the slip, "To tell him they had concerns that Riko was holding me back. He was predictably unimpressed, and forced a playoff."

 

"And you beat him," Josten guesses.

 

Kevin's choked laugh seems painfully loud in the early morning silence.

 

"I'm not suicidal. No; I threw the match, of course. But he knew. Maybe he'd always known, and he'd just been ignoring it until he couldn't. He told us to sort it out— I presume he meant that I should spend more time helping Riko perform better instead of focusing on my own game, that Riko should work harder and be motivated to surpass me."

 

"But that's not how he took it."

 

This time he's right, and Kevin can only shrug and look away as he recalls the incident. It's a painful memory (though not his _most_ painful), but at least there are no new revelations in it for Josten to learn: he knows the damaging and dangerous part already, knows that Riko was responsible for what happened to him. It's useless to be afraid of that now.

 

It's just not the only damaging and dangerous truth Kevin could tell him, and the thought of _that_ still scares him.

 

"No. He took it to mean that he should remove me from contending entirely. Or maybe he didn't. Maybe he just lost control of himself." He sucks in a breath through his teeth, and the weight of Josten's attention on him is so heavy it feels like it's pressing him into the ground. "It wouldn't have been the first time."

 

 _That_ truth isn't the most dangerous or damaging of those that remain, but it opens the door to them, gives Josten the floor to ask more questions. Instead, he gets up off the couch and comes to stand beside Kevin, catching his hand and drawing it away from his chest.

 

"It was my father," he says, in a change of subject that's not really a change of subject at all. "When I was a child. And then again, later. Whenever he could catch us."

 

"Us," Kevin says, and though he doesn't try to make eye contact, he feels Josten's hands falter on his skin.

 

"My mother and me," he says quietly, and there's a quiet, awful note in his voice that Kevin knows by heart, because that one's tangled up with that _most_ -painful memory, the one he doesn't let his mind visit too often.

 

"She's dead, isn't she?"

 

Kevin feels something clench in his chest when Neil nods.

 

"Did he kill her?"

 

He nods again, and when Kevin finally looks at his face, there's vulnerability and despair and something that looks almost like guilt.

 

"She was protecting me," he says miserably.

 

Kevin doesn't know a lot about comfort, but the little he does know was learned from his own mother, from the way she would gather him into her arms when he went sprawling on the court or when he'd been unable to meet his own expectations and childish frustration had driven him to tears.

 

It's those memories he draws on as he pulls Neil into a hug. It's awkward: Neil's shoulders stiffen immediately and Kevin has no real idea of how to fold another body gently against his own, but Neil puts up no resistance and eventually Kevin finds his way. After a moment, Neil's head is tucked under his chin, his chest warm and solid against Kevin's— and after another moment, his arms wrap slowly around Kevin's waist as Kevin rests his cheek against dark hair.

 

It feels both completely surreal, and entirely right.

 

"I don't know what to do," Neil admits, and Kevin sighs.

 

"I think we're just supposed to stand here," he says. Neil gives a sound somewhere between a sob and a laugh, and lifts his face, dislodging Kevin's cheek from where it had been resting.

 

"I mean in general."

 

"I don't think anybody does," Kevin says, though the words bring the tightness back to his chest. "We're all just trying to figure it out, Neil."

 

"That's the first time you've ever called me by my name," he says, looking about as surprised as Kevin feels. At some point during this horrible conversation, he stopped being _Josten_ , the idiot with equal amounts of secrets and potential, and started just being _Neil_ , a boy he understood all too well.

 

...Maybe the familiarity isn't a great idea, maybe it's worrying him as much as Kevin, maybe—

 

"I could stop, if you want," he offers, but Neil shakes his head.

 

"Don't. I like it."

 

Kevin likes _him_ : likes the soft, sad smile that graces his face and almost makes Kevin forget that Neil still has things to tell him.

 

"Your father," he starts, and the tension is instantly back in Neil's body, spreading through his chest and his shoulders. He steps back from Kevin so quickly he nearly trips over his own feet.

 

Kevin lets him go, but he's not prepared to let the matter drop.

 

"Is he still after you? Because we can protect you—"

 

The softness is all gone from Neil's face now, replaced with a hard, weary resignation.

 

"It's not your problem."

 

"You're on my team, of course it's my problem."

 

" _Your_ team," Neil repeats, and it's only then Kevin realises his mistake.

 

"My father's team, our team, whatever. That's irrelevant; what matters is—"

 

"It's completely relevant," Neil says, cutting across him. "You think of it as _your team_ , but you're not even playing. And you _could_ , Kevin. Don't tell me you couldn't, because I know you could."

 

He's right, and Kevin can't deny it, but he doesn't think he's ready to share the truth of why he can't, either, especially not when Neil has deliberately changed the subject once again.

 

"Tell me why," Neil says, and the desperation has returned to his voice. "I need to know why, Kevin."

 

"Why is this so important to you?"

 

It sounds like stalling, but it's not, it's just Kevin wanting to know why he cares so damn much.

 

"Because—" Neil starts, then seems to reconsider. "I—"

 

He stops again, clearly at war with himself.

 

"Come back when you decide how much you can tell me," Kevin says, stepping away from him. "Maybe by then, I'll know how much I can tell you."

 

It's only when Neil looks disappointed that Kevin realises that perhaps there's something in him which feels regretful, as well.

 

"And until then: it's Saturday morning, and it's before nine. Out, so I can get some sleep."

 

"Or we could go to the court," Neil says slyly.

 

It's not something that takes a lot of consideration on Kevin's part.

 

"I'll get my keys."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so ends part one. The entire fic is now finished, so part two should be along next week! Thank you for reading. ❤️


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HUGELY DELAYED CHAPTER TWO IS NOW HERE! 
> 
> Sorry about the wait; a combination of AO3 just spurning me every time I try to post plus being caught up in the Kandreil story plus RL events mean it got put back a bit. But it's here now! ❤️

They talk more, after that.

 

Their secrets remain buried, but little bits and pieces of their previous lives creep into the conversation— things like how Neil's mother had never made him eat his vegetables, like the way Kevin had a secret girlfriend at Evermore, like about the friends Neil had at Millport, like the story of how Kevin and Jean had been friends before Riko had ruined it... Things like favourite colours and chosen teams and most admired players and preferred snacks and Exy, Exy, Exy.

 

In terms of his performance, Neil improves as the weeks wear by. Slowly —too slowly for Kevin's liking— but steadily. He's a good student, if occasionally mouthy; they argue as often as they agree, but for someone with Neil's inexperience, his suggestions are surprisingly clever. They're too reckless for Kevin's taste a lot of the time, of course, but they pay off more often than they don't, and Kevin is prouder of him than he expected to be.

 

The only thing that really troubles him is that there's something familiar about the way he argues back when Kevin pulls him on his footwork or his racquet placement, but he's never quite able to pin down where the feeling comes from— and he can never focus on it for too long, because there's always another correction to be made, another drill to run, another target to hit. It seems unimportant in the grander scheme of things, but it still bugs him from time to time.

 

The night before the rest of the team are due to return from summer break, they're walking back to Kevin's car when he catches Neil's arm.

 

"With the others coming back tomorrow, I won't have the time to work with you so extensively," he explains. "It wouldn't be fair to give you special treatment anyway," he adds, because the wave of guilt that comes when Neil looks up at him in dismay is unsettling.

 

"Right," Neil says quickly, looking away. "It's fine, Kevin. I get it."

 

He tries to pull away, but Kevin tugs him backwards.

 

"You don't," Kevin says, then uses his other hand to pull the freshly-cut keys out of his pocket. "These are for you. So you can practice on your own, whenever you want."

 

Neil stares down at the keys in Kevin's hand for a moment, almost like he's afraid to touch them.

 

"They're really for me? You cleared it with Coach?"

 

"It was his idea," Kevin says with a shrug. "You've earned this, Neil."

 

Neil finally lifts the ring from his hand, fingers brushing Kevin's skin as he makes a fist around them, gripping them tightly enough that Kevin's sure he's going to ram them quickly into his pocket in case Kevin reconsiders.

 

Instead, he leaves his hand where it is, right in Kevin's palm, and after a minute, Kevin curls his fingers around Neil's.

 

On the court, they touch all the time. Kevin manhandles him as necessary to demonstrate form, technique, intensity, and it never feels like this: intimate, personal, _intense_. In fact, the only time it's ever felt like this was the morning Neil came over and asked him—

 

"What if I can never tell you?" Neil says, so quietly that Kevin wouldn't be able to make the words out if he hadn't been so close to Neil when he spoke them.

 

"Then you never tell me."

 

"And it doesn't change this?"

 

There are so many possible interpretations of _this_ that Kevin doesn't know where to start.

 

"The keys? No. I said you'd earned them, and I meant it. The last few weeks, you've improved dramatically. You have a long way to go, but you work hard, and you care."

 

"And this isn't you washing your hands of me."

 

He really is the most frustrating person.

 

"Do you listen at all? I said I won't be able to work with you _so extensively_. I can't be seen to show favouritism, to drive you to the court every night and work with you in private. It doesn't mean I won't work with you at all. You'll never get where you need to go on your own, nor do I expect you to."

 

"You could come with me," Neil says, and while Kevin can take _frustrating_ , he can't take _impossible_.

 

He tries to pull his hand away, but this time it's Neil who won't let him go.

 

" _Kevin_ ," Neil tries, but Kevin shakes his head.

 

"No. You asked if not telling me would change this— And our professional relationship, no. I'll still teach you, every day. But on a personal level... I'm not telling you things I shouldn't when there's still so much you're keeping to yourself."

 

He wrenches away, finally, running his hands over his hair.

 

"I still haven't told my father what you told me, do you know that? About your parents. He still thinks they're some absentee idiots out in Arizona. Mildly neglectful, or that they adopted you out of some abusive nightmare and then didn't know what to do with you. And I should have told him, Neil. If you're bringing danger to the team—"

 

"I'm not."

 

"Aren't you? You never answered my question."

 

"What question?"

 

Kevin's not sure if Neil's stalling for time, being deliberately dense, or is really just that stupid.

 

He wonders if it's possible for all three to apply.

 

"I asked you if you needed us to protect you."

 

"I _don't_."

 

"And do the rest of us need protection?"

 

Neil freezes at that, and Kevin can't help but notice the way he holds the fisted keys out behind himself, like Kevin might take them away again, and all the annoyance bleeds out of him at that.

 

"It won't change this either way, Neil. You are on the team now. I'm not going to take that away from you— And I'm not trying to trick you into telling me something you don't want to, either. I'm trying to determine if we need to put safeguards in place, and if we need to tell some of this to Coach so he can make sure the rest of the team aren't in danger."

 

"I won't put them in danger," Neil says, and then, inexplicably: "I won't put _you_ in danger."

 

Kevin can't help the bitter laugh that bubbles out of him at that, and he walks a few steps away, sitting down on the edge of the curb.

 

"And how do you plan to do that?" Leaving aside, of course, the dangers Kevin is in that have nothing to do with Neil. "You can't even keep yourself safe, or you wouldn't have been running from him."

 

"I'll leave," Neil says simply, and though they are only two words, Kevin is chilled right down to the gut. "He doesn't want anybody but me. If I have to—"

 

"No."

 

"No?"

 

Neil blinks down at him stupidly, and Kevin reaches up to knot his fingers into the hem of Neil's sweatshirt and _tug_. He goes with little effort, crouching between Kevin's spread thighs, the confused look still painted across his face.

 

"I'm not washing my hands of you, and you're not leaving. You _can't_. We need you."

 

Neil seems to have nothing to say to that— he just looks at Kevin with big eyes and an expression that's both broken at hopeful all at once. Up this close, Kevin notices with some surprise that he's wearing coloured contacts, and he wonders if Neil's eyes are just a different shade of brown or if they're something else entirely.

 

"I don't want to go," Neil says, and he sounds so desperate that Kevin curls his hands into his shirt, only intending to give him something to ground himself, but Neil's hands find Kevin's wrists and lock on with surprising strength, holding him there. "I don't want to."

 

"Then don't," Kevin says, and Neil makes a horrible sound of wounded distress. "Neil—" he starts, and then bites his lip. "That's not even your real name, is it? I can call you whatever you want, but you need to understand that whatever your name is, and whoever you used to be: you belong here."

 

Something passes over Neil's face, something disbelieving and lost and so broken that it turns like knives in Kevin's gut.

 

"It doesn't matter who I used to be," Neil says quietly, and his fingers slide their way up from Kevin's wrists to his shoulders, coming to rest at the nape of his neck. "I'm Neil now, and that's— It's the only name I ever want you to call me."

 

They stare each other down for a long time, barely any space at all between them: Neil, alone and afraid; Kevin, lost and lonely.

 

"Neil," Kevin says, and then his hands are in Kevin's hair, and Kevin is kissing him.

 

The taste of him sends sparks shooting along Kevin's skin, brushed away by clever fingertips a moment later, and then he's hauling Neil closer and Neil is making tiny sounds against his mouth and kissing him back like his life depends on it, like he might die if they stop, and Kevin is so swept away by the want of him that he lets it happen until both of them are out of breath and he feels as dazed as Neil looks when they part.

 

Kevin moves one hand to his jaw and sweeps his thumb along the length of it.

 

" _Neil_ ," he says again, and for a moment Neil's expression is heartbreakingly pleased and tender, but then it disappears like smoke in the summer breeze, replaced by something much darker and colder.

 

"I can't do this."

 

It's a slap in the face, mostly because Neil's right. There's only a year and change between them, but Kevin's supposed to be his Coach (or his Assistant Coach), and that makes it... Weird.

 

"You're right. I'm your Coach; it's inappropriate. I'm sorry, I shouldn't have—"

 

"No," Neil says, brows crowding his eyes and his lips —still red, still slick, still tempting— pulling downwards. "It's not that, Kevin, although, yeah: I don't want you to be my Coach, I want you to be my _teammate_. But that's not why, it's nothing to do with that, it's just that there're things you don't know. You said _not_ telling you doesn't change us on a professional level, but that was... Not professional. Not telling you changes that."

 

"Do you want to tell me?"

 

It's hypocritical of him to ask, considering Kevin himself doesn't even know what answer he wants Neil to give to that question, but the words spill out of him anyway.

 

Neil seems equally confused, because he taps his fingers against his lip for a moment before rolling himself upwards and stepping away.

 

"I want all sorts of things. It doesn't mean I can have them."

 

"It also doesn't mean you can't."

 

Neil blows past that, possibly because of the hypocrisy of it, and possibly just because he's on a roll now. He gets very _into_ things— which is part of what's so very attractive about him.

 

(It's also what's so very infuriating.)

 

"No, but in this case: I can't."

 

Kevin nods, and rises to his feet.

 

"I assure you, I get it." The sad and grateful look Neil gives him almost breaks his heart. "I should get you back to Abby's."

 

Neil sticks close to his side as they walk to the car, and brushes his fingertips over his lips on the ride back.

 

Somehow, that's the thing that hurts the most.

 

When they pull up outside Abby's, he looks at Kevin expectantly, like he thinks Kevin might kiss him again, but Kevin only eyes the door.

 

"Kevin—"

 

"Don't, Neil," he sighs, putting a hand over his face. "You can't. I can't, either. There are a lot of _can't_ s, and the only _can_ is Exy. Let's leave it there, okay?"

 

Neil clearly debates saying something, but in the end, he only nods.

 

"Yeah," he says quietly. "Okay."

 

Kevin tracks him all the way to the front door. He knocks twice, and when Abby appears, she tilts her head in question towards Kevin to ask if he wants to come in. It's about the last thing in the world he wants right now, so he gives a little wave but backs out of the drive and onto the road.

 

Instead of heading back to his apartment, he drives until he's out of town, pulls over, and parks himself on the car's boot. He looks up at the stars and thinks about Riko and Neil, about his mother and his father, about his career and his injury, about his past and his future.

 

He's still not used to being alone; before PSU, it simply wasn't a possibility. He'd wished for it on occasion, but until he fled Evermore, he didn't know what he was wishing for. Not really.

 

Sometimes, it's a blessing: the peace to gather his thoughts without somebody standing over him, demanding attention and submission and conversation. Sometimes, it's a curse: the lonely, unmoored feeling in his chest threatening to rise up and overtake him in choking panic and crushing misery. Right now, it doesn't feel anything so much as it does _sad_ , like there is something important missing in his life and his heart, like there is something he should have, but doesn't.

 

It could be his mother, or his career, or his future— he misses all of those things, and the thought of going on without them brings a tight lump to his throat. On some level, he even misses Riko. There had been madness and malice right from the beginning, but initially there had been companionship and camaraderie, too. That's what he misses: the way things were between them when they were children on the court together, before Kevin realised "the best" meant there was room for only one at the top, before Riko realised "Moriyama" meant cruelty without consequence.

 

He tells himself that those are all the things he misses, and tries not to think about the fact that Neil might be the thing he misses most of all.

 

* * *

 

The Foxes are a terrible team. Kevin knew this before he came to PSU, but knowing and experiencing were two entirely different things. He learned it on a far more intimate level when he began coaching them last year, but he did think he knew the extent of their awfulness, then.

 

Either he was wrong, or he had somehow convinced his brain to forget the reality over the summer.

 

He can't even decide which of them irritate him more: the six younger players (who, aside Neil, are terrible in every way), or the five older ones (who are better, but should be better _still_ ).

 

He and Dan are constantly at loggerheads over Kevin's rough appraisals, but she's entirely too soft with them, and _somebody_ has to play bad cop when his father won't do it. Some part of Kevin appreciates that fundamental goodness in the man, but there's another part of him that would like to see him drag this year's new striker sub over the coals for her attitude, would like to see last year's new goalie dropped from the team for lack of talent— would like to see the whole team chewed out for their lack of commitment and effort and discipline.

 

Neil finds him when he's gathering up one night, muttering to himself in annoyance, and takes the net ofballs out of his hand.

 

"You're going to give yourself ulcers if you keep this up."

 

"If I were prone to ulcers, I would have gotten them at Evermore."

 

Neil sighs, then tips his gaze towards the goal.

 

"Have you been playing at all?"

 

The question is a trap, and every answer a different kind of noose around his neck.

 

He finally opts for the truth; it's no worse than the others, and at least it's easier to remember.

 

"A little. I haven't been pushing it; I think some part of me is still afraid of doing more damage, not that it would matter."

 

"You could always try your right hand," Neil says, tipping his head to the side, and Kevin gives that suggestion the look of contempt it deserves.

 

"Have you ever tried using your non-dominant hand for anything? They made me learn Japanese at Evermore, and I had to use my right because of the— It's hard, when you're left handed. All the strokes..." He shrugs, remembering the lessons, and how awful they'd been. "It was just easier to do it with my right hand. But that's a very different thing, an easier thing, and even that I wasn't good at."

 

"Well, you're no good at writing with your left, either. Your writing's awful," Neil teases; Kevin swats at him, and Neil ducks out of range, smiling a little smile that quickly eases into something more thoughtful."You're not awful at Exy, though. I bet you could do it, if you wanted."

 

"But I don't want," Kevin says, and this time it's Neil who looks justifiably contemptuous.

 

"How many balls do you think hit my head tonight?"

 

"Fine: I _can't_ want," Kevin sighs, but that only seems to make Neil angrier.

 

"Don't you miss it?"

 

Telling the truth last time hadn't helped anything at all, so Kevin only sighs and rakes a hand through his hair, stepping away to gather up the net again, but Neil refuses to be ignored. His hand curls into Kevin's sleeve, and he tugs— just once, but it's enough to get Kevin's attention.

 

" _Kevin_."

 

"Why are you asking questions when you already know the answer?"

 

"So you do miss it."

 

"Wouldn't you?" Kevin shoots back, and there's something so cold in Neil's laugh that it chills his spine.

 

"Desperately. That's why I can't accept you giving up."

 

" _Surviving_ isn't giving up," Kevin says, and something shutters in Neil's expression.

 

"Sometimes I wonder," he says, then turns around and disappears off the court, leaving nothing in his wake but the lingering smell of the cigarettes he never seems to actually _smoke_.

 

* * *

 

 

The end of the summer brings the beginning of the season. The team are a mix of wary apprehension and excitement, which is probably the first time Kevin has found anything about them relatable.

 

Their desire for a pre-season party is harder to relate to, but considering he's not invited anyway, he doesn't think it matters.

 

Kevin's plan for the last Friday before the official start of the season consists of a healthy meal couriered to him by a meal delivery service (much like with not pushing too hard when he fools around on the court occasionally, he can't seem to relax his diet, either), and re-watching a tape of their first opponent's last game. It very definitely doesn't include someone knocking on his door halfway through the game, but considering there are only a handful of people who could or would bother him this late on a Friday night, he still pauses the game and goes to investigate.

 

He's only half surprised to find Neil standing there, looking vaguely uncomfortable.

 

"Neil," Kevin says, not knowing what else to say, then considers for a moment and steps aside to hold the door open.

 

He hesitates, hovering above the threshold like a vampire unsure if that counts as an invitation or not, then finally squares his shoulders and steps inside. He stops again when he sees the food on the coffee table, and so abruptly that Kevin knocks into him.

 

"I can come back?"

 

Kevin sighs, planting a hand at the small of Neil's back, shoving him towards the couch.

 

"Sit," he says. "Watch. We can go to the court when I'm finished."

 

"I didn't come so we could go to the court," Neil says, and the words are even more unexpected than the visit.

 

"Oh," he says at last, then remembers he should sit, though it feels weird to do it when Neil is so close that their thighs are touching when Kevin finally joins him on the couch. "I see. Is there a problem, then, with the rest of the team?"

 

"No problem," Neil says, picking at the frayed hem of his t-shirt. "I just didn't feel like going to a party."

 

"A rare sensible choice," Kevin says, reaching for his plate. "That doesn't entirely explain why you're here."

 

"I have nowhere else to go."

 

"You have keys to the court. Should I take them back?"

 

" _No_ ," Neil says quickly, looking alarmed. "That's not— I didn't mean it that way. I just didn't think— I can't play, tonight," he says finally, and it's only then that Kevin notices how wretched he really looks: there are bags under his eyes, and he looks faintly queasy.

 

"Here," Kevin says, dropping the plate in his lap. "You eat this; you look like you need it more than I do."

 

"I'm not hungry," Neil says, confirming Kevin's suspicion that he probably hadn't eaten anything all day.

 

"Neil, you have to—"

 

"My mother died a year ago today," Neil says, and if there were any words in the world to shut Kevin up, it's those. He lifts the plate off Neil's lap and sets it on the table, considering where to go from here.

 

"I'm not good at comfort," he says quietly. "I'd send you down the hall to my father, but he's even worse. But I can drive you to the court, or we can watch the game, or—"

 

"She hated Exy." Neil's voice is very soft, and his gaze is on the plate of food Kevin relieved him of rather than on Kevin himself."She didn't want me playing, didn't want me doing anything that would draw that much attention to myself. Playing today feels like it would be... I don't know, an insult to her. Though I guess playing at all is an insult to her, so maybe one more day won't matter."

 

"It might matter to you."

 

Neil looks up then, and the hollow, haunted look in his eyes puts Kevin off the prospect of eating, too.

 

"I can't give it up, Kevin."

 

"You'd better fucking not," Kevin says sharply, and Neil reels back a little bit, but Kevin doesn't let him interrupt. "Your mother is dead, Neil. What she would or wouldn't have wanted— It's not that it doesn't matter; it's just that it can't matter more than what _you_ want. You're the one who still has to find a way to live, to have something to build your life around. You're damn right you can't give it up. You shouldn't have to. You _don't_ have to— And if you tried, you'd screw the team. You're my starting striker; where would we be without you?"

 

" _Your_ stiker," Neil repeats quietly, but Kevin waves a hand because he doesn't have time to deal with Neil pulling him for taking too much charge of the team right now.

 

"Yes, Neil," he says. "I need you, and the team needs you, and you need this. I appreciate that you're still grieving, and that's it's especially hard today. I really do," he adds, thinking briefly about all the anniversaries he's lived through —first at Evermore, more recently at PSU— and how they had hurt. "But she wanted you to be protected, right? You are better protected here than you were crashing in the locker room in the middle of nowhere."

 

"I had a squat," Neil says, looking peeved.

 

"How impressively secure sounding."

 

"And I had a system."

 

"A system," Kevin repeats, dubious. "What kind of a system?"

 

"It was a small town," Neil says quietly, looking down at his shoes. "If anybody from out of town showed up asking questions about me, I figured I'd hear about it before they got their answers."

 

Kevin can only marvel at that quietly for a minute.

 

"No wonder you looked like you'd seen a ghost when we showed up to recruit you."

 

"Yeah," Neil says, "No wonder."

 

There's something unconvincing in his voice, though, and Kevin gets the impression that the conversation is headed in ways that's making Neil uncomfortable. He doesn't plan on shaking Neil down for any truths tonight, not when he looks as miserable as this, so instead he bumps lightly against Neil's shoulder.

 

"If Exy's off the table, what would be a better way to remember her?"

 

"Staying alive," Neil says grimly, and Kevin sighs.

 

"I didn't have plans to murder you tonight, but if you keep being difficult I might change my mind," he says.

 

For some reason, that seems to make Neil smile, and it's a look Kevin wants to keep on his face.

 

"We could probably get blitzed," he offers. "I don't have anything here, but I know my father has a full cabinet. I know where he keeps the key, too."

 

"I don't drink," Neil says. "That's actually another thing she would have hated. We only used alcohol for—" He stops, then chances a sideways glance at Kevin. "Injuries."

 

"Too dangerous to go to a hospital," Kevin says quietly, then holds out his left hand, letting Neil get a better look at the scarring there. "I get it. Coach did the same thing when I showed up after what happened.

 

"I wouldn't let him tell anyone I was with him, so he and Abby had to patch me up themselves. She was frantic, kept worrying that she wasn't doing a good enough job— that she'd botch me, and I'd never be able to play again. Not that it mattered. She begged me to let them take me to a hospital, but I knew they'd find me, and I just... I couldn't. I couldn't see him again, not that soon. And I knew they'd have wanted to take me away in case I told anyone the truth."

 

"They should have known better," Neil says dryly, and Kevin elbows him gently.

 

"I told _you_."

 

"Not everything."

 

"That makes two of us."

 

They sit and contemplate that in silence for a little while, then Neil rests his temple against Kevin's shoulder.

 

"I can't," he says. "Especially not tonight."

 

"I'm not asking you, Neil."

 

"I know."

 

Kevin tilts his head to rest his cheek against Neil's hair and feels his sigh as much as he hears it. In fact, what he feels is the sense that having Neil at his side is the most natural thing in the world. Still, he knows they're in dangerous territory here, pressed against each other from knee to crown— It would be so easy to get carried away, to let this turn into something else, except...

 

...Except it doesn't feel charged, not like the night they kissed. It just feels like a warm, comfortable affection: the strange feeling of safety, and being home.

 

Of course, it _is_ Kevin's home —has been for months— but this is the first time he's felt this way about it.

 

It's the first time he's felt this way about anywhere since his mother died.

 

(Maybe it's the first time he's felt that about any _one_ since then, too.)

 

"I'm sorry about your mother," he says eventually, and finds Neil's hand stealing into his a moment later.

 

"I'm sorry about yours."

 

"And I wish any of this was simple."

 

Neil's laugh is soft and sad, and it makes Kevin's chest hurt.

 

"Me too."

 

"Do you want to tell me about her?"

 

Neil considers the question for a little while, turning it over in his mind.

 

"She was quiet. Practical. Fierce. Ruthless. Protective." He looks far away as he speaks, clearly more in the past than here with Kevin, but for the moment, that's all right with him. "She did everything in her power to keep me alive, but she wasn't always kind about it."

 

"You miss her," Kevin says quietly, and the look Neil turns on him is all despair.

 

"I—" He looks away, swallowing heavily. "Sometimes. A lot of the time. But other times... I would never have gotten to do any of this if she was still here. Exy. College. A normal life."

 

"I don't think I'd call any of this normal," Kevin says, but Neil only shrugs.

 

"It's more normal than I ever thought I'd have. I get to play Exy every day. And there's you."

 

"There's no me, Neil," Kevin says, but Neil only looks up at him without seeming to take any rebuke from it.

 

"You called me your striker," Neil says firmly. "That's what you said."

 

"I meant the team," Kevin says, but Neil just gives him a look.

 

"You treat me differently than you do the others," he insists.

 

Kevin opens his mouth to protest that's not fair, that he's never given Neil any special treatment beyond his place on the starting line, and even that was purely because he was the best of their recruits, but Neil continues—

 

"You're harder on me than you are on them."

 

—And Kevin knows he has a point.

 

"I hated you for it at first," Neil says. "I thought you were angry with me because of— Because of what happened," he says, skirting the issue with an unusual lack of grace for someone who is typically very skilled at re-directing a conversation. "Everyone was feeling sorry for me because of it. Even Seth, and he hates me."

 

"Seth hates everyone," Kevin says, but Neil only gives him a little smile.

 

"And they think _you_ hate _me_. But you don't, do you?"

 

"No," Kevin says quietly. "I don't hate you, Neil."

 

Happiness flickers across Neil's face briefly before it's replaced by something more complex, and darker.

 

"Not yet, anyway."

 

"Keep playing like you have been and I won't have to," Kevin says, but Neil's answering smile lacks its usual sparkle, so Kevin continues: "You're right: I am harder on you than the others, but it's not because I hate you. It's because you have more potential. I argued to get you on the line despite your inexperience because I believe in your abilities, and I think you deserve a future. If you do what I tell you, you'll have one. A professional team. The national team. How could I hate you?"

 

"How can you not?" Neil asks, and there's something frantic in his voice now, something bitter and wary. "That was your dream too, once. Now it's good enough to just help me?"

 

This is the last direction Kevin wanted the conversation to turn, so he lets go of Neil's hand and tries to stand so he can shut it down, but Neil grabs his shoulder and shoves him back into his seat.

 

Kevin really needs to stop being surprised by how strong he is.

 

"I'm serious, Kevin— I know you still want to play. I watch you when we're on the court, and I can see it on your face. It's been four months, and you don't look any less miserable to be on the sidelines now than you did when I got here."

 

Kevin says nothing to that, because what _can_ he say? It's not like Neil's wrong, after all.

 

"I'm at the court every night," he continues. "You could be there, too— Not to give me special treatment, though I wouldn't turn you down if you offered, but to play yourself. _For_ yourself. Even if you can't play for the Foxes, for a professional team, for the National team... You can play for you. For Kevin Day."

 

He leans in then, until there's almost no distance at all between them.

 

"I knew your mother died, too, and that you'd understand what it's like to grieve this way, but that's not why I came to you with this. The reason I came to you tonight was because you're the only person I've ever known who loves Exy the way I do— because I wanted to be with somebody who would understand why I'm here even when I shouldn't be, who could make me feel like I can do this. Who could make me feel like I'm not wrong for wanting it, even if my mother wouldn't have agreed. To remind me why I came to PSU.

 

"That's you, Kevin. It could only ever be you, so _I know_ that not playing is killing you," he says, and when Kevin still doesn't argue, there is triumph in Neil's eyes. "Come back and play with me. It doesn't count as special treatment if you're just playing with me as a friend instead of training me as a coach."

 

_As a friend_. Kevin hasn't the slightest clue how to have or be a friend, not really, but Neil doesn't seem deterred. Not that it matters, considering—

 

"That's a very thin argument," Kevin says, but Neil's smile doesn't waver.

 

"Wafer thin," he agrees. "But that's all you need, really, isn't it?"

 

Kevin thinks about it —about being back on the court again for real, about drills, and practice, and playing at Neil's side— and puts a hand over his face.

 

"I changed my mind about not hating you," he says, and Neil laughs: bright and clear and victorious and entirely disbelieving.

 

"But will you still play with me?"

 

Kevin takes his hand away after a little while and studies Neil's face, all excitement and hope and expectation. He could say no. He _should_ say no, but Neil knows he won't, and there's something reassuring in that, in being understood by somebody who won't find a way to make a weapon of it to use against him.

 

"Every night," he says, and the way the hope on Neil's face blossoms into happiness makes Kevin's chest feel tight.

 

"It'll be worth it," Neil says softly, and Kevin only nods before dropping back onto the couch, arms over his face.

 

"It'll be worth it for both of us," he tells Neil, trying to sound convincing.

 

He knows it will be true for Neil, but he's not sure it will hold true for himself. A moment later, he feels Neil settle in against his side, knees drawn up to his chest, and he rests his temple back against Kevin's shoulder.

 

"I believe you," he says, and that almost makes Kevin believe himself.

 

* * *

 

They do practice every night. The weeks of practising without Kevin to steer him have taken their toll, but between Kevin's renewed attention and his own efforts, he improves steadily.

 

The _rest_ of the team, however...

 

Their first game is a disaster. Their second is little better.

 

His father isn't bothered by this development —or rather: he isn't _surprised_ by it— but Kevin doesn't handle it nearly it so gracefully, and Matt swings for him during their next practice, quickly becoming a fight which nearly escalates into an all-out brawl.

 

If it had been the entire team versus Kevin, he might have taken some small measure of satisfaction in that, in being the reason they came together, but it isn't even that: it's Neil and Seth, Matt and Kevin, Dan and Evan... The only person who doesn't end up getting dragged into it is Renee— And Coach, of course, who breaks it up with visible disgust.

 

He's not the only one unimpressed; Neil gives him a black look to match his black eye when Kevin comes to pick him up for practice that night.

 

"Was that really necessary?"

 

"I'm sorry, me? Did I swing for him, or did he swing for me?"

 

"You called him a sad excuse for a player and said that he'd be better served defending the door of a bar than the goal of a court," Neil says, rubbing at his temple; he's dangerously close to the bruise, so Kevin slaps his hand away before pulling out into the street.

 

"I was trying to get across the point that he's not working hard enough. That would barely have counted for an insult at Evermore—"

 

"Well, we're not at _fucking Evermore_ , Kevin!" Neil snaps, and it's the first time he's ever yelled at Kevin quite like that.

 

Kevin only raises a brow and Neil slumps back into his seat: mutinous, but silent, and Kevin's disinclined to say anything until he gets an apology, so they ride the rest of the way in silence.

 

"Look," Neil says, once they get out, his body pointed away from Kevin, towards the road and the school beyond. "I didn't mean to snap, but it's _not_ Evermore— and from everything you've told me? That sounds like a good thing."

 

It's not exactly an apology, but it's close enough.

 

"It _is_ a good thing," Kevin sighs, leaning back against the car. "Part of me hated it there."

 

"Was that part _your brain_?" Neil asks, finally coming around to Kevin's side of the car and parking himself against it at Kevin's side, so Kevin bumps against him.

 

"Probably. But maybe not just my brain. It turned out to be not so great for my body, as well," Kevin says, and feels Neil's hand brush lightly across the back of his hand, over the scars there, a contact which makes him shiver. "And not that my _feelings_ rank too highly on my list of priorities, but: it wasn't good for those, either."

 

"For your heart," Neil says quietly, and Kevin shrugs one shoulder.

 

"I know things are different here. I know they should be, and I know that's good. But god, it's hard sometimes, Neil. Why don't they care? Why can't I _make_ them care?"

 

"I don't know, Kevin," Neil sighs, "I don't get it, either. But there's a ton of stuff they're interested in that we don't care about. Movies. TV shows. Nightclubs. Music. Hooking up."

 

Kevin snorts at that last one, and Neil's brows furrow in disbelief as he looks up at him.

 

"What? You don't care any more than I do. And don't try to tell me you're running around with somebody, because I know your schedule."

 

He thinks about Thea, about the single phone-call they'd exchanged after his "accident"— about the way she'd been sympathetic to his situation but angry he hadn't called her sooner, about the way he hadn't felt comfortable telling her the truth about how it happened, about the way they'd ended the conversation with _We should talk again soon_ , and about the way they haven't spoken in over six months.

 

He thinks about telling Neil any of that, or all of it, but it doesn't feel like quite the right time.

 

"'I know your schedule'," he repeats instead. "Impressively creepy."

 

Neil only shrugs.

 

"My point is: they care about all that stuff the way we care about Exy, and it baffles us the way we baffle them. Maybe we shouldn't judge."

 

" _You_ have been spending too much time with Matt," Kevin says, irritated. "It's different. All that stuff is stupid, and Exy is—"

 

He stops then, not quite knowing how to finish that sentence.

 

"Something you're glad you took up playing again?" Neil suggests slyly, and Kevin slaps the back of his head before pushing off from the car and heading to the stadium, Neil close in his wake.

 

"We'll see who's laughing after I have you running Drill Three tonight," Kevin says, giving him a dark look, and Neil's amusement immediately vanishes.

 

"I take it back," he says mournfully. "You're not my friend,and if this were one of those TV shows instead of real life, you'd be the villain."

 

"I'm too handsome to be the villain," Kevin says loftily, and Neil gives him a sideways look.

 

"Haven't you heard? All the villains are hot these days, apparently."

 

Kevin's not sure what to make of Neil's phrasing there, which implies not only that Kevin is attractive, but also like it's something he's heard second-hand rather than seen with his own eyes.

 

It's a little insulting, considering that they spend every night together.

 

(It's more than a little insulting, considering that kiss he spends every night trying to forget, regardless of what he thinks about the stupidity of _hooking up_.)

 

"'Apparently'," he repeats, letting Neil unlock the doors and lead the way inside. "Like _apparently_ , I am hot?"

 

"According to some people."

 

"Which people?" Kevin asks, and hates himself a little for it. He knows what he looks like, and he shouldn't care, and yet—

 

And yet he cares.

 

He's not on the team, but he's still privy to their gossip sometimes, to the arguments and bets that Neil is gay, that he's straight, that he's bi, that apparently when anyone asks who he's interested in he just says _I'm not_ , but Kevin can't entirely believe that. Not when he remembers the way Neil's fingers had slipped through his hair as they kissed, not when he considers the way he looks at Kevin when they're off the court, not knowing the way he finds excuses to touch Kevin every time they're alone.

 

Neil, of course, looks like he thinks he's asking out of simple vanity.

 

(Which admittedly might also be a factor, it's just not the greatest one.)

 

"Allison," Neil says, "And Renee agreed. There's Bobby, but you know that one. Tina said you were hot until you opened your mouth. Oh, and: Dan, once— but she was really drunk, and she said she regretted it the morning after. "

 

"I feel so gratified," Kevin says dryly, and Neil bumps against his shoulder.

 

"Don't worry, Kevin. Everybody thinks you're hot."

 

" _Everybody_."

 

"Well, not Seth, obviously, or Claire or Matt. And Evan says you're not his type."

 

So that's an opinion from everyone apart from the person Kevin wants to hear from the most.

 

_Isn't that just wonderfully fitting_ , he thinks, and sighs.

 

"Thank you for the full and thorough report, but considering that neither of us are looking to _hook up_ , as you put it, maybe we should move the conversation back to Exy."

 

"Okay," Neil says agreeably, and that's the last they mention it until Kevin's dropping Neil off around the corner from Fox Tower after practice, and he stalls before getting out of the car.

 

"Two things," he says, struggling to look Kevin in the eye. "One: you really need to apologise to Matt. You're his Coach, so you can't keep flinging insults, especially when they don't even work as a motivational tool."

 

Kevin purses his lips, but he knows Neil has a point.

 

"Fine," he grinds out. "And the other thing?"

 

Neil gives him a considering look, gaze sliding over his hair to his face to his body and back again.

 

"Two: I fall into the first group. Still. If you were wondering."

 

He's out of the car before Kevin can respond, an orange-jacketed blur disappearing up the road and around the corner before Kevin can even realise what he _meant_ , much less respond.

 

_I fall into the first group_.

 

The group that thought Kevin was hot.

 

Well.

 

He sits behind the wheel for a long time, looking in the direction Neil had gone, and wondering how his new, supposedly "simpler" life had become so complicated.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...Kevin only _thinks_ his life is hard now.
> 
> Just wait, Kevin...


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kevin and Neil, back on their bullshit.
> 
> I love them an unreasonable amount. Thank you to everyone who has been reading and commenting on this story, it's meant such a lot to me! ❤️

It doesn't get any simpler as the season wears on.

 

Kevin spends his days with his father and the Foxes, and his nights with Neil. The team improve a little, but it's an uphill battle, and it's difficult for Kevin not to lash out at them for their laziness when he would give anything at all to have the privilege of playing for a team himself. Only getting on the court with Neil at night takes the edge off his frustration.

 

It's both a source of comfort and a constant irritation, though; to be back on the court again feels like finding a missing piece of himself, since he is never so content or whole as when he has a racquet in his hand, but knowing he'll never get to play on a team again hurts more than his hand does, these days.

 

Neil had fretted a little at first, but Kevin gets stronger every week, and eventually Neil stops worrying and spends his time trying to beat Kevin, instead. That part is fun, because there's no losing there for Kevin: if he wins, it means he's not as useless as he was after his injury; if he loses, it means his protege is becoming worthy.

 

He tells his father about the night practices, eventually— he _has_ to, since Wymack was getting concerned about his mental well-being, about Kevin staying so close to the game without actually playing. His reaction is... Mixed; while he is relieved to hear Kevin's putting in some court time again, he seems more concerned about the situation with Neil.

 

 _You're his Coach_ , he reminds Kevin, as if Kevin needs reminding.

 

That isn't the only reason he hasn't allowed anything further to develop with Neil —their respective secrets are a big part of it, too— but it's never far from his mind.

 

Neil doesn't care: he's nineteen, Kevin is only a year older, and it's obvious that he doesn't think of Kevin the way he thinks of his father. It had taken him weeks to stop cringing every time Wymack came close to him, to get to the point where now he smiles if Wymack's hand settles on his shoulder, but with Kevin... Neil has been at peace with him since the day he arrived: comfortable, interested, _present_.

 

If they'd been teammates, it would have been perfect... But they _aren't_ teammates, and that makes it unseemly, makes it something that could cost Kevin his job and his court access.

 

_I fall into the first group._

 

Unsurprisingly, Kevin likewise falls into the group that thinks Neil is hot (and like the Kevin group, it's more of the team than not), but Kevin falls into a different group, too, because his interest in Neil is a lot more than skin-deep. As the months slide by, that becomes harder and harder to ignore— especially when he sees Neil spending more and more time with Bobby, staying behind after practises to work with him.

 

"You should be focusing on your own performance," Kevin tells him, not entirely without churlishness, when Neil misses his first rebound that night.

 

"Didn't you once tell me the best way to learn was to teach?" Neil says, scooping up the ball and sending it back to him.

 

"This is different. I was a striker, and so are you. You can't even have anything useful to teach to a backliner."

 

Neil says nothing to that, just skips a few steps towards Kevin and tries to slip around him.

 

"You can always spend the extra time on him yourself if you'd prefer."

 

"I wouldn't," Kevin says, then scowls as Neil somehow manages to get underneath his arm and away with the ball far too easily. It was stupid of him to let Neil get the drop on him that way, though he hopes he can put it down to being distracted, and doesn't need to take it as a sign that his skills have slipped completely.

 

Being too distracted is a good excuse to let the subject drop for now— though if he's being honest with himself, there's also the fact that the last thing he wants to do is give Neil the impression that he's jealous.

 

He thinks Neil might have it anyway, because he looks distinctly pleased with himself even before he advances on the goal and lights it up red.

 

"What are you doing for Christmas?" Kevin asks, in the hopes of changing the subject.

 

Neil shrugs, flicking the ball against the wall to rebound at an ugly angle against the ceiling, then catches it perfectly without having to take a step; it's a move he would never have been able to pull off six months ago, and it makes Kevin glow a little with pride and fondness.

 

Whatever conflict he might occasionally feel about Neil besting him personally, any time he shows an independent improvement in his skill, Kevin is only ever happy for him. He works harder than anyone else on this damn team, and nobody deserves it more.

 

Not that Neil would agree with him; the prospect of Christmas seems to confuse him entirely.

 

"Abby said I could stay at hers. Coach offered me his couch. Matt tried to pay for a ticket to New York for me."

 

Neil flicks the ball to Kevin this time, and he has to stretch his racquet a little to get it. He frowns, and pops it back.

 

"Again. Less force if you can't be accurate. Accuracy first; force second. So which one are you going to do?"

 

"I didn't mind staying with Abby over the summer," Neil says thoughtfully. "I don't want to put Coach out, but if I stayed there, it would be easier for us to go to the court at night."

 

"And Matt?" Kevin asks, aiming for casual, and failing far worse than he does with his next shot.

 

He's nowhere near where he was with the Ravens, but he suspects that's as much the limited amount of court time he gets as the injury; a few hours every night with Neil is nothing to the days and nights of intense effort he'd lived at Evermore, but they're both improving, and that's what really counts.

 

(So he tries to tell himself, at least.)

 

Neil considers the question, aiming at the lower left corner of the goal.

 

"I don't really know how to be around normal families," he confesses, then swings, lighting the goal up red. "You and your dad are different. You obviously care about each other, and I think maybe things are getting better for you guys, but there are a lot of missing pieces. You're not exactly normal."

 

" _Thanks_ ," Kevin says, scooping up the ball before it can roll too far and ducking around Neil to follow suit.

 

"Well you're _not_ ," Neil says, gearing up for a running shot. "It reminds me of me and my mom. We were always too focused on our goals to have a normal relationship, too. That's isn't normal, and neither is the part where you only found out he was your father a few years ago, _or_ that you only started having a relationship last year."

 

Kevin steps back to let him line up his shot, then waits until he's just about to release the ball before checking him; Neil's not expecting it, and his shot goes sailing wide.

 

"Always expect the unexpected," Kevin says, though Neil seems unimpressed by the advice, and only rolls his eyes.

 

"You being a dick is _not_ the unexpected," he says, but it doesn't slow him down as he backs away to set up his shot again. "Speaking of which: if you'd never gotten hurt, were you really never going to tell him he was your father?"

 

Well, _that's_ a hard prod in a sore place, and Kevin's next tackle is a little harder for it.

 

"I was waiting for the right time."

 

"And when was that? He deserves better than that, Kevin. So do you."

 

There's nothing Kevin can say to that beyond _When it wouldn't have put him in danger_ or _When the Master was dead and it would have been safe_ — Nothing, in other words, that he can tell Neil without telling him all the other things he's not telling him, so he keeps his mouth shut, focusing on the goal in front of him, on foot placement, on the slope of his racquet, on the force he puts behind the ball as it lights the goal up again.

 

Neil doesn't try to push the subject again, but he sulks for a little while at the lack of a response from Kevin, dancing around him and putting more force into his tackles than he really needs to.

 

Eventually, out of nowhere, he says—

 

"I could stay with you."

 

Kevin freezes, the ball falling out of his racquet from the abruptness of his stop, and for a second he thinks it's a tactic to arrange just that —he'd be impressed if it were— but Neil's just looking at him with measured interest from a few feet away, racquet held loosely by his thighs.

 

"We both know that's not a good idea, Neil."

 

"Do we? Why?"

 

From anyone else, it would have sounded flirtatious, but from Neil, it just sounds earnest, like he can't imagine a single reason why he and Kevin shouldn't be left locked up together with nothing to do in a cramped space that has a large bed, so Kevin puts one hand over his faceplate and sighs.

 

"Because I don't trust myself to be alone in my apartment with you," he says, and a moment later, he feels Neil's fingers wrapping around his wrist and tugging his hand away.

 

"We said we can't," Neil says, like it's that simple.

 

Maybe it really is that simple for him, but considering the way Neil's fingers remain wrapped around his wrist, Kevin thinks it's more likely that he's fooling himself, or that he just isn't aware how likely things would be to become a problem.

 

"That doesn't stop anyone if they both want it badly enough," he says, thinking of Thea, and Riko: of how things had escalated out of his control, and how quickly.

 

Neil seems to realise then that he's still holding Kevin's wrist then, and lets go immediately.

 

"Oh," he says quietly, watching Kevin with intense, heavy eyes.

 

Kevin just shakes his head, then prods him in the shoulder with the side of his racquet.

 

"Back in the game, Josten," he says, turning away, but he can't leave it there— he can't help himself. "Stay with my father, if you want; you won't get any normal family stuff there. Last year I was drunk for most of Christmas because of the pain in my hand. This year..." He shrugs one shoulder. "He might go to Abby's. We can come here."

 

"I'd like that," Neil says.

 

His voice is still soft, but a moment later a ball flies past Kevin's head. He has to run to chase after it, so the moment is broken, Exy taking priority and rescuing them —once again— from saying too much, and from the repercussions of what they have said already.

 

* * *

 

 

The final day of term is cold and clear, and Kevin intends on giving Fox Tower a wide berth while the others are moving out, but his father texts him to ask if he'll collect Neil because his meeting is running late, and what can he say— No?

 

He sends Neil a message to let him know to expect Kevin rather than his father and parks outside the building, looking up at it and feeling weirdly uneasy. In another life, he would be living there, possibly now himself packing his things and... And what? Going with the team to New York? Being Matt's friend, going shopping with Allison, talking tactics with Dan, bitching with Seth, or discussing music with Renee? He can't see himself doing any of those things in any life. It's just not who he is, and whoever he might be on his way to becoming, he doesn't think he could ever be... _That_.

 

Eventually Neil appears at the door, a box clutched in his arms.

 

"Sorry," he says, trying to get the door open with one arm and clutching the box with a death grip in the other, "Everybody was talking, and I have so much more _stuff_ now—"

 

Kevin resigns himself to his fate and kills the engine, getting out of the car to cross around to Neil's side at the back and opening it up so he can stow the box.

 

"It's fine, Neil. I was listening to the news, anyway."

 

Neil gives him a sideways look which implies he knows exactly how much bullshit that is, but lets it slide.

 

"Everyone's kind of upset I'm not going to New York," he admits, pushing his box into the seat and seeming to briefly consider getting in beside it before Kevin snags the neck of his jacket and tugs him towards the passenger seat instead. "I'm actually kind of glad to be getting out of there."

 

"Glad you're not going, too?"

 

Neil says nothing to that, just climbs into the car, and Kevin figures he might have pushed too far, so he lets it drop and gets back in so they can head to his father's apartment.

 

"Not glad, exactly," Neil says, after a such a long pause that Kevin had almost forgotten he'd asked the question. "I like them. And—" He hesitates, looking for all in the world like he can't believe what he's about to say, so Kevin knows exactly what's coming: "And they like me. I guess I just wish I— Fit in better, maybe."

 

"If they like you, then you fit in fine, Neil," Kevin sighs, and he is... So the wrong person to be having this conversation with.

 

Kevin has never fit in anywhere, and never really wanted to, either. As a small child, he had been almost entirely isolated: his mother's work and their frequent travel meant he lived a life very different to most children. At Evermore, he'd been on a pedestal with Riko, though not quite at the same level: always a little below, and off-centre. Here at Palmetto, he occupies a strange sort of no-man's-land: a Coach, but closer in age to the team than to the staff, and only barely respected.

 

He is dramatically ill-equipped to talk Neil through his, but the least he can do is _try_.

 

"Maybe next time they ask you to go somewhere, you should take them up on it. It won't always be a family thing, especially considering it's such a hot-button issue for so much of the team."

 

"Maybe," Neil says, though there's that note in his voice which makes Kevin think he's not being entirely truthful, perhaps not even with himself. "I also didn't really want to go to New York."

 

"You've been before?"

 

Something flickers over Neil's face, and he looks away.

 

"Forget I asked that question," Kevin sighs, and Neil chews on his lip, clearly weighing how much to tell him.

 

"Big cities make me nervous," he says eventually. "Anyone could be anywhere. And it reminds me of my father."

 

Kevin feels slightly queasy at that thought, but turns his attention to the road.

 

"So where would you go if you could?"

 

"I'd stay right here," Neil says, and despite looking straight ahead, Kevin can still see the sad little smile on Neil's face. "But if I couldn't— And if I could go anywhere else..." He shrugs, picking at the knee of his jeans. "I liked Arizona, but I can't go back. The West Coast reminds me of my mother, and the East Coast reminds me of my father, so that doesn't leave me a lot of options."

 

"Sounds like you really _should_ stay here," Kevin says quietly, and he can't read the look Neil sends him: it's not quite desperate and it's not quite happiness, but some combination in between.

 

"There's this town in Montana. Hamilton." He shoots Kevin a half-grin. "You'd like it; it's very _historic_. But it's all mountains and clean air, and there's only a few thousand people who live there, and it's miles from the ocean. It's the kind of place you could disappear in," he adds, looking away again, and Kevin can't help himself from reaching out and laying a hand at the nape of his neck; Neil leans into it a moment later.

 

"What about you?" Neil asks, and Kevin shrugs one shoulder.

 

"I'd go anywhere I could play."

 

Neil looks stricken by that, but he gets it together pretty quickly.

 

"And if you couldn't play ever again? If you couldn't even coach?"

 

"Then it wouldn't matter where I was," Kevin says quietly, and Neil's hand reaches back to cover his.

 

"I get it," he says, and there's so much sincerity in his voice that Kevin actually believes him, even if the idea of Neil —who has been playing Exy for all of a year and change— truly understanding how much Kevin longs for the court now he's cut off from it is patently ridiculous. "But you're still dodging the question. The point is to pick a place."

 

Kevin sighs, looking out at the road in front of them.

 

"I might like to go to Ireland," he says, finally. "I haven't been back since my mother died."

 

Neil doesn't seem to be surprised by this, though his expression darkens faintly at the words.

 

"You wanted to go back?"

 

"Of course I wanted to go back, _Neil_ ," Kevin says, shooting him a look. "Even if not to stay, it would have been nice to visit."

 

"And will you?" Neil says. "Now?"

 

Kevin sighs.

 

"I don't know. Maybe. Probably. Some day. Will you ever go to Montana?"

 

"That depends," Neil says, and Kevin's about to ask him what it depends on, but then they're pulling up at the apartment complex and Kevin's zapper for the garage won't work, and by the time they've gotten it dealt with, he's forgotten the entire conversation.

 

For a while, at least.

 

* * *

 

It's a weird feeling, once the others have left. Knowing Neil is just down the hall in his father's apartment is comforting— but it's also like a tiny needle under his skin, the sensation reminiscent of getting the tattoo he still bears. The memory makes him touch his fingers to his cheek as he stares up at the ceiling from his position on his couch, thinking about Neil in the same spot just a few doors down.

 

This burgeoning obsession is ridiculous: he'd be better served by thinking about the tattoo, and what he might do about it.

 

After they'd struck their bargain with the Master, his father had asked Kevin if he wanted to get it removed, but Kevin had said no: he was subject to too much scrutiny, then, and it would have been too close to a public slap in the face, too big a repudiation of his former role as Riko's lesser half.

 

Now, though... Now, the attention has died down, and the Foxes are at neither the top nor the bottom of the league. Their middle-ranking makes them less interesting; even the relatively operatic story of tragic injuries and secret sons can only hold the public's attention for so long. If there was ever a good time to start with removing it, over the Christmas break would be it. The scabbing should heal enough that when he's on camera next, it'll just be a little faded— he can get another session over Spring Break, two more over summer, and by the time he's courtside with the Foxes next year, it should be entirely gone.

 

He still feels a little flutter of panic when he thinks about that, as if it's saying goodbye to some final piece of his dream for his future, but Riko has already let him go, he will never play for a professional team again, and things are over between him and Thea. Every part of his dreams and his future have already disappeared, and seeing the number on his cheek every day is just another reminder of that. There's no reason to keep it, and every reason to get it removed.

 

Thinking about it too much is making his stomach hurt, however, so he rolls himself off the couch and makes his way to his father's apartment, knocking on the door.

 

It's Neil who answers, looking rumpled in a way that gives Kevin pause for a second before he asks if he wants to hit the court.

 

Neil's only ever said no to that once, so his immediate _yes_ comes as no surprise.

 

"You're quiet," Neil says, gaze out the passenger-side window as Kevin drives them to the court.

 

"Apparently I don't handle downtime any better as a coach than I did as a player," Kevin says, shooting him a small, tight smile. "Too much time to think does me few favours."

 

"I'm not sure it does anyone any favours," Neil says, propping his chin in his hand and turning to look at Kevin. "What were you thinking about?"

 

It's only when Neil asks the question that Kevin realises that he wanted him to: Neil has the unfortunate habit of digging his fingers into places he shouldn't, but it's become a backwards sort of comfort to Kevin. Being around him means talking about things he needs to talk about, even if he doesn't want to, and ever since that first conversation where Kevin told Neil about Riko, and Neil told Kevin about his mother, Neil hasn't pushed too hard for the things Kevin had refused to tell him.

 

It doesn't make Kevin want to _tell_ him more, but it certainly makes Kevin _trust_ him more, _want_ him more, _need_ him more. When he's around Neil, he feels more himself than he does with anyone else: stronger, safer, happier. Playing alongside him helps, but it's not only being back on the court again: it's him, just him, and the relationship they have with each other.

 

Kevin knows he still can't tell Neil everything, but the things he can tell are easier to speak to him than to anyone he can ever remember spending time with— and any time he's hesitant on that front, Neil will drag it out of him. The juxtaposition of that and Neil's respect for his refusal to discuss certain things is incredibly reassuring: he's badgered just enough that he can't let his feelings fester, but not so much that he has to spill truths he knows he shouldn't.

 

This one, at least, won't get either of them into any trouble.

 

"My tattoo," he admits, eventually. "I was thinking of having it removed."

 

The minute he says the words, Neil straightens up in his seat and leans over into Kevin's space, poking at his cheek; Kevin bats a hand in his direction.

 

"Look with your eyes and not your hands, brat," he says, but Neil only laughs.

 

"I think it's a great idea, Kevin. I told you a long time ago that it wasn't true, and I think it's good you're ready to see that."

 

"That's not—" Kevin starts, then realises he doesn't know how to continue because he isn't at all prepared for what Neil has just said. "I wasn't doing it because of that."

 

"But I'm right," Neil says, as if that's all in the world that matters. "You know that, yeah? You're back to where you were last year. That shot you made last night— Kevin, that was perfect."

 

"Firstly: no," Kevin says, because if there's one thing does he always know how to do, it's to correct Neil. "I'm laughably far from where I was last year. I haven't played with anybody but you for twelve months, Neil. If you put me into a game now, I'd be worthless. It's one thing to have my aim and strength back; it's another to have the stamina and the focus to perform with a full team on both sides and in front of a packed stadium."

 

Neil pulls a face at that, but does not argue. All he says is—

 

"Secondly?"

 

"Secondly," Kevin repeats, irritated by now smug Neil looks at Kevin's annoyance at having his thunder stolen, "It's not about that. I'm not trying to be number one. I can't be. I'm out of the game entirely— Our game, and Riko's." He sighs, chewing his lip and trying to rake up the courage to say the next words: "Maybe that's not such a bad thing."

 

"You being out of Exy is a bad thing," Neil corrects, automatically. "You being out of Riko's clutches is something completely different. I just wish you could play without having to deal with him again."

 

Kevin doesn't bother replying to that, because he doesn't trust himself not to say something too-earnest and too-stupid.

 

"I know that's not realistic, but I still want everything of his off your body," Neil continues, and Kevin _definitely_ can't say anything to that: his throat is too tight, and his chest aches. "I have for a long time. I'm glad you finally do, too."

 

Kevin is just glad they're still on the road and he has an excuse not to look at Neil, because he doesn't trust himself to do that, either: he has been hiding his true feelings most of his life, but seven months with Neil and he's lost his capacity for it... Or his capacity for it with Neil, at least.

 

He's so very afraid of what Neil would see in his face if Kevin looked at him— Nearly as afraid as he is of what he might see in Neil's face, if the soft and still somehow determined tone in his voice is any indication.

 

They don't talk for the remainder of the ride, but Kevin is very keenly aware of Neil's presence at his side, and it occurs to him —not for the first time— how very right it feels. When they pull up at the Foxhole Court, Neil reaches for him again, and this time Kevin doesn't push him away.

 

Neil's hand is a warm, comfortable weight on his cheek, stroking over the skin there, tracing the outline of the tattoo with his thumb.

 

"You don't have to get rid of it completely," he says softly. "You could just get a cover-up. Change it to something of your own design."

 

"I could," Kevin agrees slowly. "I thought about it. I talked with my father about it. But that would only make sense if I were resuming my old life, or almost resuming it. I can't just change it, because I'm not just... Changing. I'm becoming something entirely new."

 

"Kevin," Neil says, and suddenly his fingers aren't on the tattoo, they're cupping Kevin's jaw and drawing his face closer. "You're still you. You're still _you_ , Kevin. You don't have to change that much. You're still Kevin Day."

 

"I'm not sure what that means anymore."

 

"We'll figure it out," Neil says, pressing his forehead to Kevin's, sharing breath with him in the small space of the car. It's painfully intimate, and Kevin reaches up to touch Neil in the same way, fingers laid along his jaw. He feels Neil's breath catch, and then he's grazing his lips over Kevin's: gentle, but sure.

 

"Neil," Kevin says, and he doesn't intend it, but he has the same reverent tone Neil had used to say Kevin's name, and there's something about that which makes his head spin... Or maybe it's just the fact of Neil kissing him, the heavy weight of his mouth against Kevin's, the slow sweep of his tongue—

 

 _No_.

 

He finally gets a hold of himself then, jerking back out of Neil's range, running both hands through his hair and trying to lick the taste of him off his mouth so it doesn't keep tormenting him.

 

"Jesus. _Fuck_. I knew I couldn't trust myself with you."

 

"You said you couldn't trust yourself in an apartment with me," Neil says, and there's a cheeky curve to his lips now. "This is a car."

 

"And _you_ said _We can't_ like you agreed with me," Kevin says; he doesn't mean to sound so accusatory, but it doesn't seem to bother Neil regardless.

 

"I changed my mind," he says simply. "I'm tired of watching you deny yourself things you want. I thought maybe you being ready to get Riko's mark off your face was a sign that you realised there were some things you could have, if you wanted them."

 

" _Want_ isn't the problem, Neil," Kevin says, though he quickly realises it's a mistake when Neil looks even happier. "I'm not going to lie to you. I'm not going to pretend I'm not interested. I'm not going to pretend I think you're not interested. But I am going to tell you that we can't, still."

 

Neil's face falls a little, but he rallies quickly.

 

"Is it because you're coaching?"

 

"Partly."

 

"Is the rest of it because I won't tell you things?"

 

"Partly," Kevin repeats, and then sighs. "Partly because I haven't told you things, either."

 

"Are you going to tell anyone those things?"

 

It's such a stupid question Kevin barely finds the strength to answer.

 

"Of course not. If I can't tell you, how could I tell anyone else?"

 

Neil seems to find that answer satisfying, but only for a moment, because his expression soon morphs into a disbelieving scowl.

 

"So you're just going to be alone for the rest of your life? That doesn't seem to be what you want."

 

"Are you?" Kevin shoots back— and then, at Neil's sad little expression, softens his tone. "Maybe I'll find somebody who's not interested in knowing the finer points of my past."

 

"I'm pretty sure that's not ideal," Neil says slowly. "Dan and Matt—"

 

"Are not me," Kevin interrupts, irritated by Neil's increasing mentions of them. "Which means that their preferences aren't my preferences, and their needs aren't my needs."

 

"It's just— They seem happy."

 

The timbre of his voice when he says it sounds almost baffled, like happiness is something he can't understand or imagine, and much as Kevin hates that... He can understand it, too. How often has he been happy in a way that didn't come from being on the court? How often has another person ever made him happy? Truly, genuinely happy?

 

Has there ever been anyone, aside from Neil— from the one person he can't have?

 

"That doesn't mean that what makes them happy will make me happy," he says at last, because he can't possibly say _I don't know how to be happy_ , or _I can't allow someone else to be that important to me ever again_ , or even _It's not worth it because everything is temporary and they'll probably hate each other five years from now_.

 

He definitely can't say _I can't have you, so anything else is going to be second-best anyway_.

 

Neil wouldn't understand— or worse: he _would_ understand, and where would they be then?

 

"I don't know if it would make me happy," Neil says, after a long moment. "Sometimes I think it would be worth trying, though."

 

"I had a deal with Thea," Kevin says, the words surprising himself almost as much as Neil, though it shouldn't be a surprise to Kevin: it's more of that strange comfort, that unavoidable habit of spilling all his secrets for Neil, and Neil alone. "That I would look her up when I graduated," he continues. "I know that's off the table now— she can't be with me when I'm not playing."

 

Something flickers across Neil's face at that, but whether it's judgement or empathy Kevin can't tell, so he continues.

 

"I get it: sharing a court was what brought us together. There was a plan, which was predicated on being Court, and on sharing a professional team if we could, too. I think being around me like this would be uncomfortable for her. A reminder of what injury is, and what it can take away from you. And besides that..."

 

He shrugs.

 

"I might resent her eventually. For having all the things I can't anymore."

 

"You said you didn't hate me, but... Do you resent me?"

 

The question is asked so quietly that Kevin barely hears him, and it takes him a long time to decide how to answer.

 

"Sometimes," he admits. "But not enough to stay away from you. And it's different with you: I'm teaching you, helping you. Thea and I were always teammates. We were the same, and I don't think we'd know how to be anything else. You and I aren't like that— with you, I have something you don't in terms of experience, and you have something I don't in terms of a future on the court."

 

Neil looks like he might try to argue that one, so Kevin hurries on:

 

"It's not resentment so much as it is... I don't know. Envy, maybe. Or jealousy."

 

Neil gives a startled little laugh at that, then slaps a hand over his mouth, and Kevin raises a brow.

 

"I'm not laughing at you," he says quickly. "It's just that I've been jealous of you for years, Kevin. Getting to play for the best team in the country, having no expectations but Exy... I didn't know how bad things were there. I only saw what everyone else saw: skill and special treatment and the time and freedom to play."

 

"Not that much freedom," Kevin says, and Neil's expression softens.

 

"No," he says quietly, "I guess not. You're still denying yourself. But you're— If you're that set on it, I'm not going to fight you."

 

It's stupid, so unbearably stupid, but some tiny part of Kevin had assumed Neil would want to fight for this, for him, for them, and the fact that he isn't... It should be a relief, just like it had been a relief when Thea had graduated: the removal of a source of stress, a weight off his chest, even if he was losing something that mattered to him, too.

 

It isn't. It only hurts.

 

And then Neil says—

 

"I'll just wait."

 

—And suddenly Kevin hurts for an entirely different reason.

 

"Don't be stupid," he says. "You're a Freshman."

 

"So?" Neil's stare is defiant. "I don't care. If I can't have you, I don't want anyone else."

 

"Neil—" Kevin starts, but Neil holds up a hand.

 

"I mean it. I'm not interested in other people. You keep telling the others that it's a distraction anyway, right? So I'll just focus on my game. You have me as _your striker_ for the next four and a half years, and then when I graduate, you can have me as something else."

 

"God, Neil," Kevin says, but he can't help the warmth he feels, the surge of affection, the hideous and immediate relief.

 

Neil wants this as much as he does.

 

That doesn't mean they can have it, but at least it means Kevin isn't alone.

 

He can't find it in himself to argue; the way he feels is very telling, and so is the fact that it doesn't occur to either one of them to ask _What if I can't wait?_ or _What if I find someone else?_

 

Still, he has to say something, and all he can think of is:

 

"We don't seem to have done very well with the waiting so far."

 

Neil snorts, slipping one hand up and into Kevin's hair to brush up the short strands at the back of his neck, sending heat racing down along Kevin's spine.

 

"That's not helping," he says dryly, and Neil reluctantly withdraws his hand.

 

"But it's different now," he says. "I don't mind waiting when I know there's something to wait for."

 

"It's not going to be that easy, Neil, not when we're around each other all the time."

 

"It'll be easier than watching you and wondering," Neil says, and Kevin's chest aches from that.

 

He's not sure there's any truth to it, though— at least not for him, because he has never wanted anyone as much as he wants Neil at this moment.

 

"Maybe you'll just be wondering other things."

 

"Yeah," Neil sighs. "That too. But it's better than the alternative."

 

"Maybe there is no alternative," Kevin blurts out— He says it without thinking, but the smile Neil gives him lights up his whole heart. "We should go in," he adds quickly, before either one of them can say something even more stupid, and get themselves into even deeper trouble.

 

Neil finally tears his gaze from Kevin's face and fixes it on the Foxhole Court behind him.

 

"Yeah," he says. "Okay."

 

It sounds like the beginning of a future Kevin is still conflicted about— but at least conflicted means he's not entirely unhappy about it, which is more than he had before Neil came to PSU.

 

As they walk in, Neil bumps against his shoulder and gives him another one of those damn smiles, and it occurs to Kevin that the strange feeling settling into his bones might just be happiness.

 

He's not so conflicted about that.

 

* * *

 

For three weeks, everything is perfect.

 

Neil insists on joining him as he drives down to Atlanta to get the first round of laser on his tattoo, though Kevin draws the line at letting him come inside and hold his hand. It hurts like hell, but there is something pure and cathartic in it, too: it feels like the same kind of pain as training, as knowing that you're enduring this agony in service of something worthy and important.

 

He's conscious of the bandage on his cheek afterwards, but he's not quite the celebrity he once was. Nobody pays the slightest bit of attention as they fall in with a tour group wandering the downtown area to look at the city's historic buildings, and while he starts the day worrying about Riko, by the end of it, the only person he can think about is Neil.

 

Neil talks him into that haircut he'd been considering for weeks, Kevin talks him into gift shopping for Coach and the rest of the team, and they spend hours wandering the mostly-abandoned school grounds and town. For a little while, it's not just the court that theirs, it's the whole campus, and everything is beautiful.

 

Christmas comes, and goes. Abby refuses to allow them to stay at home alone, and insists they join her and Wymack for dinner. It's nicer than Kevin expected: the four of them sitting together feels like the kind of family Kevin could actually learn to live with and trust.

 

It's a complete contrast to last year: they eat too much, drink very little, and nothing is painful. Wymack makes excuses to stay behind and "help clean up" (the pretence is more traditional than out of any real intention to deceive, by this point) leaving Neil and Kevin to ride back to the apartment building alone. It could be dangerous, again, but somehow it isn't: the two of them on the Kevin's couch watching taped games of USC is somehow only comfortable, and when Neil falls asleep against his shoulder, the only thing Kevin feels is a warm glow.

 

They watch the ball drop on New Year's in Kevin's apartment alone; that insufferable backliner had gotten himself into some kind of trouble the day after Christmas, and Wymack had to fly out to whatever terrible rural hovel he lived in and plead for clemency, leaving Kevin and Neil to their own devices for the night. It proves harder than Christmas, especially when Neil points out that the others had told him you were supposed to kiss someone at midnight or face a year's bad luck in love.

 

Kevin wants to kiss him, and the thought of four more years of New Years without being able to do so very nearly has him hauling Neil in despite all their intentions. In the end, though, he only smiles and says, _We have to wait four more years, how much worse can our luck get?_

 

He finds out a few days later.

 

Neil had been oddly determined about not leaving his things at the dorm in his absence, so Kevin ismoving him back into the Tower when it happens. Matt sees Neil struggling with the box, and rushes over to help; Neil tries to refuse, but Matt insists, and in the tussle, the box gets tipped enough that a college binder slides right out of it.

 

The thing Kevin remembers most clearly is the horror on Neil's face as it had fallen to the pavement at their feet: shy of the first day they arrived to recruit him in Millport, it's the only time Kevin's ever seen him look truly frightened.

 

When it hits the floor and falls open, it takes Kevin a minute to understand what he's seeing. That there are photos of him is only a little surprising; after all, Kevin has a few pictures of Neil, too— the ones Abby took over Christmas, along with a a few he's filched from Dan's photo wall.

 

This is... Not that.

 

"Jesus, Neil," Matt says, retrieving it from the concrete and casting Neil and unusually wary look before his gaze slides to Kevin to see how he's taking it.

 

By this point, Kevin barely notices Matt, too focused on the pages in front of him, which he's now realised are not _recent_ photographs. They're not Christmas snaps of good cheer, or even candid photographs from their away games. They're press cuttings, news articles, pictures of him and Riko...

 

Kevin finally lifts his attention from the pages to Neil, and that seems to snap him out of his reverie: he dives for Matt and the book, snapping it out of his hands.

 

"Don't," he says, voice panicky and furious and shrill, and he hugs it to his chest like he might just take off with it. "I told you not to, I asked you to not, you—"

 

"I guess you were a bigger Kevin stan than you let on," Matt says, though from where Kevin's standing, he sounds far away and like he's underwater, and Kevin still can't take his eyes off the binder in Neil's arms. "Are you okay, man? I guess you're used to this shit, though, right? Crazy obsessed fans— at least it's just Neil?"

 

He's trying to make light of the situation, Kevin realises, and some detached part of him is grateful for that, but unfortunately Matt doesn't know the truth, doesn't know about the Moriyamas or Riko or Kevin's history— doesn't know about _Neil's_ history, doesn't know Neil isn't his real name, doesn't know that he's been prying into Kevin's secrets to see what he'd spill, doesn't know he's spent the last few months trying to convince Kevin to get back on the court...

 

So many worries crowd into Kevin's head at once that none of them are quite able to find purchase, which is probably a blessing: he is surprisingly clear-headed, and his gaze flicks up to Neil's face again, finally.

 

The sight very nearly undoes Kevin's composure. Neil looks torn between going to Kevin and fleeing the scene; he seemingly ends up rooted to the spot in his confusion, but still clutching the binder so tightly that his knuckles have turned white.

 

Holding onto that, it would seem, is the one thing about which he has no conflict.

 

"Matt," Kevin starts, and then changes his mind. "Actually— Neil. A word, please?"

 

He frames it like a request, but there is little polite in the way his fingers close around Neil's wrist, and nothing gentle in the way he drags Neil towards the Tower and down to the basement. To Kevin's surprise, Neil puts up no resistance, and he says nothing as they go. His gaze is low, and that stricken, sick look remains on his face.

 

Kevin hates him for that, for the guilt he feels when he thinks about Neil being sad or frightened or upset, so instead he just focuses his attention on the one unfortunate early bird who has already taken up residence in the computer lab when they reach it.

 

"Leave," he grinds out, and as soon as the guy gets a look at him and Neil, he gathers his things and speeds out. The Foxes are unfortunately infamous amongst the other student athletes, and while that usually irritates Kevin when he considers the exalted status the Ravens had held at Edgar Allan, today, at least, it is useful.

 

He watches the kid scurry out without an ounce of pity, and wishes he felt the same when he turns his attention back to Neil. His face is as white as his knuckles now, lips bloodless and pressed tightly together as he stares with Kevin with round, frightened eyes.

 

Kevin can't even take any satisfaction in it, and he hates himself for that nearly as much as he hates Neil.

 

"How much have you told him?"

 

Kevin thought he'd spent enough time in 'Neil's' company over the last couple of months to know all of his tells, but apparently not: the tiny frown of surprise that creases his brow looks entirely genuine.

 

"Tell who what?"

 

"Riko," Kevin growls, though he doesn't know why he's even dignifying that with a response. "How much have you told him? Does he know I'm practising again? When are you due to speak with him again?"

 

Neil's surprise melts back into something much closer to his previous horror.

 

"You've got it all wrong."

 

"So you don't work for Riko," Kevin says, his voice thick with disgust, and Neil's answering laugh is shrill and almost hysterical.

 

" _No_ ," he says, and god damn it, Kevin still can't tell when he's lying: he looks perfectly and utterly sincere and Kevin can't _stand it_. 

 

"I don't believe you. Why else would you have _that_ , why else would you keep pushing to see if I'd play again, if I could be talked around, if I'd spill his secrets—"

 

The longer he talks, the more his own composure gives; he backs away, both hands in his hair, the new shortness of it suddenly seeming like a red flag to a raging bull that will be chasing him for the rest of his life, however long or short that may now be.

 

"Jesus Christ," he says, struggling for breath now, "I can't believe I told you all that— Not that it matters if you already knew about the Moriyamas and the Yakuza before you even came here. _Neil— That's the only name I ever want you to call me_." He gives a harsh laugh, perversely pleased by how Neil flinches from it. "What is it, _really_? Whose family do you belong to? The Russos? The Longs? No," he continues, watching as Neil continues to look sicker and sicker. "You've taken to this too well, haven't you? You really gave your all to this performance. I believed every word you said, I actually thought you were—"

 

He breaks off there, not wanting to give Neil ('Neil') the satisfaction of hearing his voice crack. He thinks about his father, about Abby, and even about the idiots on the team: about what his disappearance will do to them, to their chances in the Championship this year, to the future of the team. He thinks about what it will do to his father's heart to find a son, and then lose him: about how not having been able to keep him safe will probably haunt him until his death.

 

What he doesn't want to think about is Neil, standing motionless in front of him, unhappiness and surprise and horror all having disappeared until there is nothing but perfect blankness on his face, about how he looks like an entirely different person now: nothing like the boy who had curled up with him on the couch over Christmas, who had looked desperate and hopeful in Arizona, who had nagged and cajoled and prodded until Kevin took up a racquet again, who had kissed him, who had given him tiny secret smiles, who had said _I'll just wait_ like he'd meant it and like it had meant something to him...

 

...And, of course, like it meant something to Kevin (which it had, not that it counts now).

 

"Who are you?" he asks again, then Neil says—

 

" _Wesninski_."

 

—And the whole world tips sideways.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm just. I'm very sorry?
> 
> Chapter four will be delayed by a few weeks because—
> 
>  
> 
> —I'm just kidding. Chapter four will be up next week. Until then, I'll be taking shelter from any projectiles which may be fired my way.
> 
> I warned you last week that Kevin only thought he had problems, right?


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter four, as promised. 
> 
> I'm still sorry for that cliffhanger last week, FYI.

He doesn't faint, exactly.

 

It's more like reality just slides away, because Neil —' _Neil_ ', or _Nathaniel_ , apparently!— is still talking, but Kevin doesn't hear a word. He's too busy trying to place his memories of the child Nathaniel had been over this new face, to picture him younger, and softer: with red hair and bright eyes and that same confident determination that has been nagging at Kevin since the first day he'd arrived.

 

He'd known from the beginning that 'Neil' had reminded him of someone, he just hadn't been able to remember who.

 

Now that he knows, he's astonished and shamed by his own stupidity. _It doesn't matter who you used to be_ , he remembers, then he wonders if he'd ever said anything quite so stupid in all his life, wonders if Neil ( _Nathaniel_ , damn it) and Riko had a good laugh over that one. How could he have missed this? He'd even noticed the fucking contact lenses that 'Neil' had worn, even over the holidays when they were alone. He should have known that made no sense; he might have been hiding from his father, but he had no reason to hide from Kevin— not unless _who_ _he used to be_ was someone Kevin had once known, and might recognise.

 

He really can't believe he didn't put it all together.

 

"—I didn't think you'd remember me and—"

 

"How could I not remember you?" he only heard part of that last statement, but it's enough that he cuts across whatever _Nathaniel_ had been saying, staring him down. "How could Riko be sure that I wouldn't?"

 

Nathaniel says nothing for a long while, still watching him with that strange blank look Kevin refuses to be intimidated by, and then something changes in the way he holds himself, in the way he stands and looks at Kevin.

 

"There's nothing I can say will make you believe that I'm not working for them, is there?"

 

"No," Kevin says, and Nathaniel makes an irritated little sound.

 

"Well. In that case, I won't bother wasting any more of your time." Even his voice sounds different now, vaguely British, and _sharper_ somehow— much like the rest of him. "You can calm down, for the record. You didn't spill anything, and I really did try to get everything out of you."

 

"It might have worked if you'd had a few more months," Kevin says softly, and something tightens briefly in Nathaniel's face.

 

"My mother always says there's no use crying over spilled milk."

 

"So she's not dead. God, every word out of your mouth really was a lie, wasn't it?"

 

Nathaniel rolls one shoulder, a gesture that is more at odds with Kevin's childhood memories of him than his behaviour over the last few months. It's unsettling, not that Kevin has the time or energy to care about it.

 

"How long have you been back with your father?"

 

Nathaniel looks perturbed by the question, but whether it's Kevin's nosiness or whatever events surrounded his return that prompt it, Kevin doesn't know. It must still be a fresh wound, though; as far as Kevin had been aware, Nathaniel and Mary were still wanted when he left Evermore, though Nathan had been in prison at the time. Had they redoubled their efforts to catch and recruit him then, knowing he was one of the few potential assets they had with enough talent for Exy to get Kevin's attention?

 

He'd be flattered, if it weren't all so fucking horrifying.

 

"That's not really your concern," Nathaniel says, getting his attention once more. "What _should_ be of interest to you is that I really wasn't lying when I said I wasn't working for Riko," he says, and then gives Kevin a cold smile that chills the pit of his stomach. "This comes from a little higher up the food chain. You don't have to believe it, but I wouldn't bother mentioning it to him, just the same. Not unless you want to get yourself into trouble." He hums, looking around at the room around them. "And I meant the part about you not having anything to worry about, too— Lucky for you: this was your test, and not mine. I didn't have orders to get your secrets out of you no matter what, only to see if you'd give them up under the right circumstances."

 

 _Higher up the food chain_. So— Kengo, then, checking up on his brother's lost sheep, making sure he doesn't undermine the security of the family, and using the Wesninskis for his dirty work, just like always. It follows, though something about it prickles at Kevin.

 

Maybe that's just the shame.

 

"The 'right circumstances' being— You were supposed to be some kind of honey trap?"

 

"It worked, didn't it?" Nathaniel's voice is calm and cold, but there is still interest in his eyes; Kevin figures nobody likes to get rejected, not even when they're playing a part. "You liked me," he presses, and Kevin wonders if that drive and antagonism was the one part of his personality that was actually real.

 

Either that, or he's just trying to see if he can get Kevin to ask if Nathaniel had liked him, too.

 

Kevin won't give him the satisfaction.

 

The answer shouldn't matter either way, now.

 

"I liked a persona," he says, trying for bored, and mostly coming out constipated. "I liked a lie: a boy with the same passion for Exy as me, who understood me and everything I'd been through, who wanted the same things as I did. The dead mother was a particularly nice touch," he adds, watching for another of those little hints of interest, even if he hates himself for it. "It was excellent _bonding material_ ," he says finally. "I really thought we had a shot."

 

And there it is: a tiny crease between Nathaniel's eyebrows, the slight downwards pull of his mouth. Maybe it shouldn't matter if Nathaniel had liked Kevin back, but knowing he felt _something_ is still very gratifying, considering how ashamed Kevin is —how _embarrassed_ — at having been played so easily.

 

"You're taking this pretty well," is all he says, and Kevin only shrugs.

 

"My mother had some sayings about spilled milk, too."

 

Nathaniel gives a startled laugh at that, and for a moment he looks like Neil again, like the fabrication he had created for Kevin to fall in love with, and Kevin's chest gets so tight and his head so loud that he can barely keep himself upright.

 

He is not, in fact, taking it remotely well— but while he might have had more in common with Neil, what he shares with Nathaniel is the ability to put up a damn good front when he needs to.

 

There are a million questions Kevin wants to ask, but only one that won't expose him in ways he can't stand to be exposed right now.

 

"What happens with the rest of the season?"

 

Nathaniel's brows shoot up.

 

"The rest of the season?"

 

"Do you disappear now, or will you play out the rest of the season with the team?"

 

"You want me to stay."

 

"It's not about you," Kevin says, and something passes over Nathaniel's face again. "It's about the team. I don't want the legs pulled out from under them— This is the best they've ever performed. We both know they have no chance of winning this year, but they can finish higher in the rankings than they ever have before. They deserve it."

 

"You care about them," Nathaniel says quietly, and Kevin scowls at him.

 

"It's my job."

 

"Sure it is," Nathaniel says, and then seems to catch himself. "Don't worry: I'll stay either way." The smile that follows is very cold, and worlds away from the Neil that Kevin thought he knew. "Disappearing mid-season might reflect badly on my employer, after all."

 

Kevin lets out a breath he didn't know he'd been holding, and he's not sure if it's because the Foxes will benefit from him seeing out the season, or because even now he knows the truth, Kevin doesn't know how to cope with the thought of him not being there.

 

"Okay."

 

He turns on his heel, mostly to get Nathaniel out of his line of sight so that he can _think_ , but a moment later he feels slim, callused fingers close around his wrist.

 

"Kevin."

 

He should pull himself out of Nathaniel's grasp, should go to the shower and scrub his skin raw, should despise being touched by him, but the press of his skin against Kevin's is no less thrilling than it was before. There has to be something wrong with him, surely, to still feel this way after what he's just discovered...? He manages, at least, to keep his mouth shut, so Nathaniel tries again.

 

" _Kevin_."

 

"What do you want me to say, Nathaniel?"

 

The fingers disappear from around his wrist always immediately, and Kevin feels the loss as soon as it happens.

 

"I don't," he says, then steps around Kevin's rigid body to the door, the folder pressed back under his arm. "I'll see you later, Kevin."

 

His voice sounds hard in all the wrong places, but Kevin still watches as he disappears out the door.

 

Once Nathaniel is gone, he slides down the wall and struggles to remember how to breathe. He locks the door, draws the shade, and ignores the angry protests from the students who come to use the room for the remainder of the day.

 

Let them kick the damn door in. He couldn't care less.

 

It takes until thirty minutes before training for Kevin to pull himself together, then he leaves for the court, wondering how in the world he's going to be able to deal with Nathaniel in front of everyone after all of this.

 

It turns out he doesn't have to.

 

When he reaches his office, he finds a set of court keys sitting on the desk, neatly sealed into an envelope with _Kevin_ written on the front in Neil's familiar blocky print. It makes him wonder, for a mad moment, if that's even Nathaniel's real handwriting.

 

Probably not. Nothing about any of this was real, after all. Nothing except his lack of information— and now, his absence.

 

The envelope contains nothing more: no note, no explanation, no crowing or apology.

 

The keys are message enough.

 

Kevin pockets the envelope, and brings the keys to his father.

 

The following morning, Neil Josten is declared missing, but Kevin Day is the one who is lost.

 

* * *

 

Kevin doesn't share what he knows with anyone.

 

Another disappearing Fox is of little interest to the police, and while they make motions to investigate, Neil's keys being returned and his property disappearing from Fox Tower makes a clear enough statement that this isn't a kidnapping or an attack: Neil left under his own power after an embarrassing incident, and had obviously done so in sound enough mind that there was almost nothing of his left behind. He's old enough to hit the road if that's his choice, and there's very little the police can do about it.

 

If Kevin shared his knowledge with them, they might react a little differently, but it wouldn't do 'Neil' any good, either.

 

The team, predictably, react in a few different ways.

 

Bobby, Dan, and Matt were closest to him, and are particularly hard-hit by the fact that he never even said goodbye. Although Neil and Seth never quite got along, he's furious about having to partner with Tina for the rest of the season and the fact that any chance they had at doing well in his last year are now completely off the table. Allison pretends she doesn't care, and Evan truly doesn't. Claire says little on the subject either way— as does Renee, but Kevin can feel her watchful gaze following him around the stadium whenever they're at the court. The pressure of having to step up to Starting Striker is so much for Tina that there are occasional whispers that she's going to be next to run.

 

It's a mixed bag, but none of it good. Kevin registers it all behind a dim haze of his own misery, but even at his best he wouldn't know what to do about it. He certainly can't tell them anything— and even if he did, he doesn't think it would make them feel any better about any of it.

 

Eventually, of course, he has to tell Wymack, but it takes him three days to work up the courage.

 

He doesn't want to, and it wasn't his plan, but watching Wymack grow wearier and wearier is too much for Kevin to take on top of everything else: there's horror and shame and dismay and embarrassment and fury and betrayal and longing, and right now he quite simply does not have room left for guilt along with everything else.

 

Wymack looks at him for a long time before he steps away to pour himself a drink— to pour two drinks, in fact, setting one in front of Kevin.

 

"Tell me again," he says.

 

Kevin downs the contents of the glass in one long swallow, barely even noticing the burn, then starts again from the top.

 

The rest of the night passes in a hazy blur, and the following morning, all Kevin remembers is the agreement, after his desperate begging, to keep the secret from the rest of the team. His father isn't happy about it in the least —all of the Foxes are very distressed by 'Neil's' disappearance, Matt in particular— but Wymack knows Kevin is right when he says that they'll be safer if they know nothing about Kevin's history, or _Neil's_ , or the Moriyamas. Riko is safely in another district, his family even further away in New York, and Nathaniel is who-knows-where, but presumably even further away still.

 

They're safe, and the way to keep them safe is to keep them ignorant.

 

As for Kevin...

 

Days slip past without meaning now that the team have lost one of their best players; nights without purpose now that Kevin has nobody to train.

 

There are games which are shameful, players that down-trodden, and a steady supply of bottles liberated from his father's alcohol cabinet. He goes to the games, the practices, the meetings, the remaining sessions to remove his tattoo... And after that, always, he goes home.

 

Only ever home.

 

Never the court, and definitely not alone.

 

He can't trust himself.

 

Throughout all this, there's a minor uptick in media attention, but _only_ a minor one: Neil Josten is not the first of the Foxes to flame out or disappear or quit mid-way through the season, and it does not surprise anyone when there is no trace found of him in the weeks and months that follow his disappearance. Kevin is least surprised of all, nor is he surprised when the Foxes crash out of the season not long after; disappointment has become so familiar that by this point that only something positive could surprise him.

 

He can't even manage to surprise himself on that front: it takes him one full week to get back on the court after 'Neil' disappears, and all of one minute to realise that he can't play. He can't find where to put his feet, and the racquet feels wrong in his hands no matter which grip style he uses: a heavy, cumbersome weight that only drags him down. He could blame exhaustion, or alcohol, for the uncomfortable feeling in his hands and his feet, but he knows that it's really his heart that's wrong.

 

It's a hideous realisation.

 

In the weeks that followed his 'accident', he had been able to accept that he'd never play professionally because on some level he'd known that Exy would still always be there, because the court had still called to him. It had been so obvious that Neil — _Nathaniel_ , he reminds himself— had seen it, and used it to play him.

 

Maybe that's why he now finds himself standing stock-still in the middle of an empty stadium, feeling empty inside.

 

He's never felt that on the court before, not ever, and he wants to hate Nathaniel for doing it to him, wants to hate himself for being too weak to overcome it, wants to hate Riko for putting him in this situation to begin with, but he can't do any of those things— can't _feel_ any of those things. All he feels is... Nothing.

 

Nothing at all.

 

He trudges off the court to sit on the benches outside, waiting for the anger to return, or the shame, or anything at all, but nothing comes. In the end, he's left looking up at the roof and feeling completely hollowed out, an absolute void of feelings, worn-down and exhausted to the point where there's nothing left.

 

Again and again, he'd thought he'd hit rock bottom— when his mother died, when Riko had broken his hand, when he'd signed away his rights as a player and condemned himself to coaching for the rest of his life, but though all of that, there had apparently been a lower place.

 

He wonders idly if there is a place that is lower still, and finds he can't bring himself to care about that, either. Again and again, the future he thought he would have is snatched from him, so what point is there in worrying, or even in caring at all?

 

* * *

 

One of the rare bright spots in all of this is the selection and recruitment of new players, though Neil's absence puts a dampener on that, too. They started this year with three strikers, but Neil's disappearance made it very plain that this was too small a number; Seth and Tina had to play full games in his absence, and that had been a major contributing factor to their early exit from the season. The trouble is, Wymack can't identify nearly enough potential recruits to make up the numbers after Seth's graduation. There is one real and decent possibility, but the others have either been snatched up by other teams, lack the talent, or seem likely to crash out before the end of the high school season.

 

Kevin can't help thinking that he and Neil would have been the perfect candidates in every possible way, a thought that drives him all the way to the bottle, night after night.

 

As a result, he rarely sleeps well: he wakes often, troubled by lingering snatches of nightmares, unable to remember anything but Riko's looming presence or Nathaniel's cold smile... Or sometimes, and worst of all, the sound of Neil's laughter.

 

Last night had been the latter, and he can't help brooding on it as he sips his morning coffee, turning on the TV to check for the morning news.

 

He doesn't spit coffee across the table when he hears the words _Wesninski, found dead at the scene_ , but he's pretty sure his heart stills in his chest until he hears the rest of the report: Nathan Wesninski, found shot dead at his home in Baltimore in what the police are calling the escalation of a violent gang war.

 

There is no mention of his son among those injured or found dead at the scene.

 

Kevin breathes a shaky sigh of relief, and puts his head down on the table.

 

It's only later that he realises that perhaps this means he is not entirely apathetic after all.

 

* * *

 

That suspicion is further confirmed the following week when another death is announced: Kengo Moriyama. It's a natural death rather than a murder, and there is no declaration of criminal associations, but Kevin wonders if it's only a matter of time. Despite his better judgement, he has been following every development of the Wesninski story, and so far multiple sources have leaked that he left a _lot_ of evidence behind. Whether any of that will lead back to the Moriyamas remains to be seen, but Kevin can only pray that none of it will lead back to him. He has no idea whether or not Nathaniel was working directly on his father's orders, or those of another of the Lord's men, but even if they could find records of that, Kevin himself should be so small a piece in their game that they won't expend too many resources on him.

 

What could Nathaniel's reports possibly have said about him, anyway— that he never said anything about their business, never alluded to any knowledge of anything? Even if the FBI do bring him in, once he claims ignorance, it'll just support whatever Nathaniel said about him. Certainly the truth is that he had no part in their affairs beyond acting as a revenue stream and a pet for Riko, so the best they could hope for would be for him to remember things he might have overheard or been privy to, and they'll find his memory unfortunately unreliable. (He can put that down to his "accident", or to his years of playing Exy and taking knocks to the head; it's not something he uses often, but it's sadly believable for someone who spent most of their life involved in a heavy-contact sport.)

 

He should be safe. His father should be safe. Their team should be safe.

 

...However.

 

They should probably at least have been _contacted_.

 

Interviewed.

 

Questioned.

 

Surely they would have been, if the FBI had known about Nathaniel's most recent assignment...? Nathaniel might have slipped up, or said something— or perhaps once the team been informed about his real identity, they might have been able to give some insight as to where he might have gone next. Even kept in the dark as they were, duped as they were, surely the Foxes were enough of a potential source of information about Wesninski's son that the FBI couldn't leave that stone unturned.

 

Unless, of course, they had no idea that Nathaniel had ever been here.

 

He mulls the possibility over lunch, though evening practice, during dinner, and well into the night, hands folded behind his head as he stares up at the ceiling.

 

What if they really don't know Nathaniel was ever at PSU, was ever one of the Foxes, was ever "Neil Josten"?

 

He can think of three possible reasons for this—

 

1\. Nathaniel was working for another of the Lord's minons instead of Nathan,

2\. Nathan was too smart to leave a paper trail, or

3\. He wasn't, but the FBI simply haven't found it yet.

 

There Is also a fourth, very remote, possibility. Kevin doesn't have it in him to consider that one yet, not when the other two seem so much more likely (and so much more likely to trip him up), and especially not when that fourth possibility means re-considering everything about the past couple of months, not when just the thought of it makes him queasy, not when every time it enters his head it makes him feel like the walls are coming in on him.

 

He still can't stop thinking about it: at lunch, at practice, at dinner, at four o'clock in the morning when the night is at its blackest and Kevin feels like the bed is falling away from underneath him. Sleep won't be happening tonight, and drinking seems too dangerous, so he levers himself out of bed and heads out to the balcony with a coffee. It's too late in the night and too early in the year to be anything but miserable out there, but the frigid air against his face is a perverse kind of comfort, sharpening his senses and making it a little easier to breathe.

 

Still, every time he thinks that traitorous thought —thinks, _What if Nathaniel was never working for the Moriyamas at all?—_ his chest tightens up again with a combination of anxiety and terror and sadness and _guiltguiltguilt_ , and he forgets how to breathe again.

 

It can't be possible. Can it?

 

* * *

 

The story continues to evolve as the weeks tick by, and the only time Nathaniel is ever mentioned is as Nathan's son: missing for ten years, and consequently presumed dead— along with his mother.

 

So that, at least, hadn't been a lie... And if _that_ wasn't a lie, how much else was true, too?

 

He tries to sort the information he has on Nathaniel into three categories: the facts, the false, and the _fucking far-fetched_.

 

He really is called Neil Josten — _false_.

He disappeared when his identity was compromised — _fact_.

He was honest with Kevin about everything — _false_.

His mother is dead — _fact_.

He had no experience of Exy before his Senior year — _false_.

He has, and has always had, genuine skill at Exy — _fact_.

He was exactly who he said he was — _false_.

He made Kevin happier than anyone else ever has — _fact_.

 

The thing is, Kevin has somehow learned to live with all of these things. He's made his peace with the fact that he was an easy mark, that he fell hook line and sinker, both for the lies and for 'Neil' himself.

 

What keeps him up at night is the other category: the question marks, the outlandish, the possibilities he is increasingly beginning to hope are true but can really only call—

 

 _Fucking_ (he wasn't working for the Moriyamas)— _far_ — (he really just came here to play Exy and be around Kevin) — _fetched_ — (he cared as much about Kevin as Kevin did about him)

 

—but that doesn't stop him from obsessing about them.

 

It doesn't stop him from obsessing about Nathaniel.

 

No matter how far-fetched the possibility is, it plagues him. If he really wasn't working for his father or the Moriyamas, that meant it had been just him and his mother all these years. He'd seemed so genuine when he'd talked about her —so truly and honestly sad— that it's hard for Kevin to believe he'd been lying about that. Was anybody that good of a liar, really?

 

...And if she's dead, and he isn't with his father, then... Where is he?

 

Who is he with? What is his life like now? What if he's alone? What if he's on the run? What if he's alone, and scared, and sad? What if he has nothing now? No game, no home, no coach, no friends— No Kevin?

 

It can't be true. It _can't_.

 

Can it?

 

He can't get it out of his mind. Again and again, the question pops into his head. He's never safe from it, not from his morning shower until he closes his eyes at night and prays for sleep. Sometimes it's the only thought left in his head.

 

_What if Nathaniel wasn't working for the Moriyamas?_

 

But that can't be. (Can it?)

 

He's not even sure if he _wants_ it to be true or not.

 

It seems incredible to think that there was once a time in his life where things were any kind of simple. Horrible, yes, but simple all the same: he knew what the rules were, where the boundaries were, when to keep his head down, why things were like that, and who he was in the order of things.

 

They became simpler still when he first came to Palmetto; he did have to deal with the fallout of losing the future he had worked for all of his life, but all the stresses of Riko and Castle Evermore melted away.

 

It had, for a time, been a simple and easy (if unsatisfying) life, where everything had been concrete, and crystal-clear.

 

Now, he feels uncertain about everything, right down to _why_ he finds those possibilities so hard to believe.

 

Is it because they are truly unrealistic, or is it just because if he accepts that they're true, he'll also have to accept that he's made the biggest mistake of his life?

 

* * *

 

He says nothing about any of this to anyone.

 

This time, he holds his tongue for a lot longer than a week. Who could he possibly talk about this with?

 

Not with Betsy, who tells him her door is always open if he ever needs to talk about Neil's disappearance.

 

Not with the team, who still come to practice despite being out of the season— even Seth, who doesn't technically have to be there.

 

Not with Abby, who fusses over him in a way his mother never would have, which makes him feel both grateful and guilty.

 

Not even with his father, who knows everything else— and who would probably understand, if Kevin could tell him.

 

He just... Can't.

 

He doesn't know how to talk about things, not having spent so many years bottling up them up— _needing_ to bottle them up, on pain of... Well, pain. He'd opened up a little bit to Neil (Nathaniel?), and that hadn't gotten him anywhere good, so he thinks perhaps discretion is the better part of both valour and common sense here.

 

...But not speaking about it, like not wanting to think about it, doesn't stop it from preying on his mind. 

 

Every time Kevin thinks about _him_ out there alone —without his friends, without his gear, without _Kevin_ — he feels panicky and ill. The fluttering anxiety which had been his constant companion at Evermore returns to his stomach, accompanied by a new and uncomfortable guilty shame for— For everything.

 

For not recognising that there was something strange about "Neil Josten", for not realising he was Nathaniel, for not giving him a chance to tell the truth, for not believing him when he said he didn't work for Riko, for letting him go— for not leaving to go and _find_ him and bring him back here where he belongs.

 

The trouble is: he can't. He doesn't know how. Even if he did, there's no way Kevin could convince him of anything, not now, not after the assumptions he'd made and the way he'd behaved. All he can do is try to put it out of his mind, but trying to stop thinking about it is an unrelenting mental effort that leaves him exhausted.

 

Heartbreak had been a surprise to Kevin; he hadn't really thought he still had a heart to break, so he'd never given much consideration to how he might recover in that scenario. The guilty stress, however, is a far more familiar upset, and he's _always_ had a strategy for dealing with that: Exy. Being so conflicted and frustrated without an outlet begins to wear on him, so it's no surprise that he finds himself in the parking lot outside the court one night.

 

He sits there for a full hour before he goes in: weighing his options, and wondering... But in the end, the call of the court is just too strong.

 

It's been three months since he last held a racquet, but this time everything is different: it feels right in his hand, and every step is purposeful. His heart is just now as bruised as it had been then, and there is a prickling anxiety that skitters across his skin when he thinks about things for too long, but the horrible, hollow emptiness is gone, and everything else Kevin knows how to handle. He flies up the court, and he can feel the difference those months have made to his hand: he is stronger and more solid, because while he might not have been playing, he'd at least kept up the exercises the physio gave him.

 

Hours pass before he realises it, the goal lighting up red for him again and again. He runs Raven drills, and Fox exercises; tries for shots nobody else would attempt, and makes most of them; sets targets, and hits them. By the time he is finished, he's so tired he can barely stand, exhaustion and elation warring for precedence in his blood— the way he always feels, after a hard practice.

 

The normality of it —the _familiarity_ of it— almost brings him to his knees.

 

He is not better; there is a part of him that still misses the company fiercely, and he still has absolutely no idea what he is doing with his life, but for the first time in months, he actually feels... Good.

 

* * *

 

Feeling good, of course, is only ever a temporary state of affairs.

 

He practises every night to distract himself from the fact that the season is racing by and he's no real part of it— by this point, he's neither Coach nor player, he's just another Trojans supporter. Last season, he'd been just as much in limbo, but it had been too new for him to really process it. This time, though, every match leaves his heart in his throat— he's _invested_ in their progress in a way he's never been before. Of course he'd love if the Foxes were fighting their way up the ranks, and of course some perverse part of him will always feel like a Raven, but the reality is that he is neither one of those things, and so he can cheer for USC with unabashed fervour now.

 

He cheers, and he hopes, but it's still nothing short of astonishing when the Trojans claim the title: Jeremy scores in the last two minutes and their defence, inexplicably, somehow closes down the goal against Riko's repeated attacks that escalate in violence and desperation as the clock inches towards the final buzzer.

 

When it sounds, Kevin's phone blows _up_ — he'd opted to watch the game alone, since the team and even his father tend to find his devotion an amusing betrayal, but as soon as the game ends, they all seem to send messages at once: Matt, Dan, his father, even Abby.

 

He doesn't realise until his phone stops vibrating that he had been hoping from a message from Neil, too, somehow— but none comes.

 

He supposes that's to be expected.

 

(He doesn't realise until much later that night that thinking of him as Neil was _not_ to be expected.)

 

* * *

 

The phone wakes him the following morning. He gropes for it and answers without opening his eyes— he gets a lot more rest now than he used to, but he'd been so wound up that it had been almost dawn before he'd slept, and the sound of the phone makes him groan and mash his face into the pillow.

 

"'Lo?"

 

"Was it you?"

 

Thea's voice is the biggest surprise of all, and Kevin sits up immediately, running a hand over his face.

 

"Sorry, what? Was what me?"

 

"Their anonymous source."

 

The words only leave Kevin even more confused, and he finds himself blinking stupidly at the phone, his mouth dropping open when he sees the time. It's not _morning_ at all.

 

"Thea," he says, trying to sound more awake than he feels, "I've been asleep for nearly twelve hours, and I have no idea what you are talking about. Whose source, for what? I haven't said one word to anyone about the Ravens' defeat last night."

 

There's a long silence, during which Kevin gathers himself a little, grabbing for the computer which is never far from reach.

 

"It really wasn't you," she says eventually, and Kevin sighs heavily.

 

"I'm guessing not, but I'm going to need to know what this is about before I can confirm," he says, and her answering laugh is slightly hysterical.

 

"Watch the news. Check the internet. Talk to— Anyone," she says, and Kevin doesn't think he's ever heard her voice like this, panicky, unhappy, and _afraid_. It fills him with a particular kind of dread. Of course she'd be upset after the Ravens' first ever real defeat —he can only assume all the Ravens are, both current and former, except for him— but for her to be _this_ rattled is a bad sign.

 

And then she says—

 

"Your hand wasn't an accident, was it?"

 

—and Kevin goes from dread to a weird sort of detached terror.

 

"No," he says. "No, it was not."

 

The silence stretches out along the miles between them, neither of them knowing quite what to say after that.

 

"Call me if you need to talk," she says finally, and then the line goes dead.

 

He watches the news.

 

He checks the internet.

 

He does not talk to anyone.

 

He would not know what to say.

 

There had been another "accident" after the game last night, except of course it hadn't been an accident at all— and six separate press outlets had been alerted to that fact, as well as to the fact that the subject of said _non-accident_ had not been receiving medical treatment.

 

If Kevin had thought he felt guilty leaving Jean behind when he'd fled Evermore, it's nothing to how he feels now. The name of the player still in critical condition has yet to be released, but Kevin already knows it, and his stomach turns over every time he thinks about it. Critical condition. Critical. He could _die_.

 

The press are reportedly withholding his name until his family can be reached —the hideous irony of that makes Kevin feel even worse— but just the same, Kevin can see his name printed on the back of his eyelids every time he buries his face in his hands.

 

The name of his assailant, by contrast, is splashed in bold type across the front page of every news outlet going: Riko, Riko, Riko.

 

It's on the lips of every newsreader and pundit, every hack and dignified journalist, because how could it be otherwise? It's the biggest scandal in collegiate sport this decade: Riko Moriyama, Captain of a first-ranked ( _formerly_ first-ranked) team, caught in the act of going back for a _second_ shot at one of his teammates in a fit of fury following their unprecedented first-ever loss. Testsuji Moriyama, complicit in this abuse, and further accused of fostering a culture of obsession and insanity that did not contemplate, much less tolerate, failure— to the point that three other players had been badly beaten, though none so severely as Jean.

 

Sometimes the words swim across the screen when Kevin tries to read them, slipping in and out of focus just like the rest of his life, like the rest of his thoughts: things he cannot grasp, or cannot allow himself to.

 

Riko has been _caught_. Caught red-handed, literally— some of the reports were more sensationalist than others, and described the scene (if not the identity of the victim) in graphic detail.

 

While he works his way through the stories, his phone remains mercifully silent. Presumably, his father had told the Foxes to leave him alone, but it's only a matter of time before the press get hold of his number. He's going to have to turn it off, but he'll have to speak to his father first. He checks the peephole to make sure the coast is clear before shuffling down the hallway to his father's apartment, and knocks on the door. He might not even be home, Kevin thinks, but then the door opens, and he discovers his father is not only home, but he looks like Kevin feels.

 

"You heard," he says, and it's not a question.

 

Kevin steps past him into the room and discovers he can only breathe again once the door is properly shut behind them.

 

"Thea called," he says, and his father sighs heavily.

 

"I didn't think to ask her not to."

 

"It's okay," Kevin says, and to his surprise, he means it; he has wanted her to know the truth for a long time.

 

He's wanted everyone to know the truth for a long time, he's just been too afraid to tell them.

 

"The Foxes," he starts, and then suddenly there's the fear, back again. "Do they...?"

 

"I didn't tell them anything," Wymack says, picking his way to the couch and dropping onto it, though his gaze never leaves Kevin, and he's both comforted that he has a father to care about him and irritated that his father should think him needing to be watched that closely. (He doesn't, he _doesn't_ , he swears it to himself.)

 

"But they guessed," Kevin says, sitting opposite him and putting his head in his hands. "Who? Dan? Evan?"

 

"Renee," Wymack tells him curtly, and Kevin marvels briefly at his own stupidity.

 

"Of course," he says quietly, and then doesn't say anything at all for a while.

 

"They're going down for this, you realise," Wymack says, and Kevin nods dumbly: whatever else was in question, that much was clear. There had been too many witnesses and too much evidence for it to simply go away this time. Tetsuji and Riko might have been the family discards, but their attitude had always been purely Moriyama: as they did not tolerate the failure of those they considered beneath them, so will Ichirou refuse to bear this, and Kevin starts to think about what that will mean for Riko, but then his father says—

 

"This means you can play again, Kevin."

 

—And as soon as the words are out of his mouth, Kevin wants to gather them up and shove them back in, because those are the words, the _exact words_ , that he has been trying not to think ever since he first heard the news.

 

_This means I can play again. If they're gone, if they're really gone, I can play again. I can play again, and this time I won't have to hold back, won't have to compromise myself, won't have to worry about being too good; I'll only have to worry about not being good enough._

 

It's a terrifying prospect, nearly as terrifying as Riko, though not nearly so terrifying as the prospect of Riko —or his uncle, or his brother— thinking that Kevin is the reason that their Kingdom is falling to pieces around them.

 

It's a long time before Wymack breaks the silence, but in that time, he pours two stiff drinks and sets one in front of Kevin. Kevin has been drinking a lot less lately, and he contemplates the glass for a long time before he takes a sip, then sets it back on the table to contemplate it some more.

 

"What do you need to do?"

 

The question requires a little less contemplation than the drink.

 

"Prove it wasn't me," he says, then runs a hand through his hair. "Which it was not, in case you were wondering."

 

"I wasn't," Wymack says, and Kevin feels a tiny bit lighter for hearing it.

 

"But that also means I don't know how to prove it," he sighs, shutting his eyes briefly. "I was alone in my apartment last night. The security logs would reflect that, if someone were to check. I'm sure they will, but that would be easy enough to fake. It obviously wasn't my phone, but if I were going to try to torpedo the Moriyamas, I'd hardly be so stupid as to use one registered to me.

 

"Worst of all: I don't know who their source is, or who he spoke to, or when, or why. I can't plan to refute any accusations anyone might make. All I can do is hope whoever really was responsible didn't think I'd make a convenient patsy."

 

His father's expression at that tells him how likely that prospect is, and Kevin's stomach turns over at the thought.

 

"I'm betting they have a lot of enemies," Wymack says in some attempt to make Kevin feel better, but Kevin only gives a humourless laugh.

 

"Yes, but I wasn't involved in the business, so I don't know how many they have who'd be that brave or that stupi—"

 

He's halfway through saying the words when the idea strikes him. _Brave and stupid._

 

Brave, and stupid.

 

Who does he know who fits that description to a tee?

 

"What?" Wymack asks, clearly disturbed by the disruption in Kevin's line of thought. "Do you know who it was?"

 

"No," Kevin says, and it's not a lie: he doesn't _know_ , he just damn sure strongly _suspects_. "I'm just thinking that hopefully they'll have the sense to realise neither of those descriptors apply to me."

 

"You were brave enough to come here."

 

"But not brave enough to get back on the court," Kevin argues, and is both gratified and wounded to see his father wince.

 

A lot of the feelings he has for Wymack seem to be contradictory these days; he believes that means their relationship is becoming more _normal_ than he'd ever anticipated.

 

"They'll figure it out," he says, after a little while. "They have to. And when they do, maybe I'll propose to them that even if letting me play again does mean I benefit from their fall from grace, it doesn't have to be a total loss on their part."

 

Wymack gives him a long look and takes a swallow from the glass; this time, Kevin does not follow suit.

 

"What do you mean?

 

"Ichirou won't try to save his brother and his uncle, not when he's just taken power and things are so unstable. He'll cut them loose rather than risk them dragging him down with them. Which is not to say he won't hunt down whoever was responsible for this to make sure their name doesn't suffer within their own circles, but publicly? He'll let them fall all the way."

 

He thinks about that —about how afraid Riko must be, about how he's handling jail, about how he'll react when he realises his brother really cares no more for him than he might a speck of lint on his shoulder— and realises to his surprise that it doesn't bother him the way it would have done a year ago. Whatever it was he felt for Riko —love, hate, resentment, jealousy, frustration, desperation— it's gone now, and all that's left is a weary sort of pity.

 

It's a relief.

 

He wonders if it's because too much of his mind and his heart belongs to someone else now, and tries to turn his mind away from that thought immediately. Fortunately, his father provides an immediate distraction.

 

"Let me rephrase," he sighs. "What does that mean _for you_? Frankly, I don't give much of a shit about Riko Fuckface."

 

Perhaps it should be disturbing to be warmed by the fact that his father, the king of second chances, isn't saving any for Riko. He figures probably there has to be a line drawn somewhere, though, and that a good place to do it is in front of the man who tortured his son for a decade— in front of the man who was half the reason he never got to see his son for a lot of that decade, too.

 

"What is means _for me_ ," Kevin says, shooting him a look, "Is that they'll want to confirm I wasn't responsible, which I sincerely hope they'll be able to do."

 

There's a little more conviction in his voice now than there was before; he isn't certain, and he can't be, but the more he thinks about it? The more likely his suspicion seems, no matter how insane it is. He can't allow himself to think about it for too long, though, not in company, and he gets back on track pretty quickly.

 

"But it also means they won't care who I play for, so long as I keep my mouth shut about the family, about Riko's connections. I wouldn't have to go back to the Ravens. I could stay here."

 

"You could play for the Foxes, you mean," Wymack says, and there's something stiff about the words, something almost formal, that sets Kevin's teeth on edge. Don't they want him? Doesn't his _father_ want him?

 

"Not if it's going to be a problem. I would _prefer_ to stay here with you, but there are other teams—"

 

"No," Wymack says, and when he looks at Kevin, the formality is gone, replaced with something that looks more like desperation. "Not for you, there aren't. You're staying right here."

 

Kevin is himself so desperately grateful for those words that his stomach clenches, and he has to turn his gaze away from the look on his father's face. It's regret and hope and determination and a hundred other things Kevin can't readily identify, but above all, it is _paternal_. He's never had that in his life before —the Master was cold and remote: impossible to please, and only ever rarely placated— and he'd always told himself that he didn't need it, he didn't need _anyone_ , but he realises now that was just the most successful lie he ever told himself.

 

He needs his father.

 

And he needs someone else, too.

 

"Thanks," he says thickly; Wymack nods.

 

He's quiet for a little while, then his brow furrows.

 

"That still doesn't explain how it's not a loss for them. They might not care if you don't play for the Ravens, but it's of no benefit to them. Where's the catch?"

 

 _Well_.

 

"The reason Lord Kengo bankrolled his brother to begin with was because they saw Exy as both a revenue stream and a front for their other business. I told you what goes on in the East Tower during game— That's what they'll miss most, that's what they'll be trying to get back. If I can help them with that, maybe they'll let me walk."

 

"I don't want you getting mixed up with those people again," his father says gruffly.

 

Kevin is touched, but it's not exactly realistic.

 

"I've been mixed up with them since the day I was born," he says quietly; there's no recrimination in his tone, since he knows his father carries a lot of guilt for his absence in Kevin's life, and for the things Kevin suffered for the lack of him. "There's no other way back onto the court for me. If I can't prove to be useful, they'll either see me as a loose end that needs to be tied up, or they just won't let me play again in case I cause further embarrassment and my presence keeps Riko's mess in the news cycle for longer."

 

"And they're going to want— What?"

 

"They'll want to replace the Master with someone who'll at least turn a blind eye to their business at Evermore. My endorsement would help. And they'll want money, of course. Always money."

 

"Your earnings," Wymack says, his lip curling faintly. "Christ, Kevin, I don't know about any of this."

 

"Neither do I," Kevin admits. "But it's the only plan I've got. If Riko and the Master are out of the picture, that means I have a shot at a career again. I'll do anything I can to make that happen. I'm not where I need to be, not yet, but by the end of the summer I should be ready. I spent so long training with—"

 

He stops mid-sentence, aware that he was about to say _Nathaniel_ , because he'd thought _I have to remember not to say his real name,_ but when he'd thought _real name_ , he'd thought _Neil_ , and that's... That's too much to process right now, especially with that almost-sympathetic look on his father's face.

 

"You miss him," he says, and Kevin shrugs and looks away.

 

"I don't have time to miss him; I have too much else to do. It would be better if he were here, but he's not— and I am. I have to concentrate on fixing what I have the ability to fix right now."

 

It's another half-truth, but it brings him to something else that's more pressing, something he can maybe deal with a little more quickly than he can deal with anything pertaining to Neil. Kevin chews on his lip for a little while as he mulls it over, then decides he might as well ask for his father's input, since he's there.

 

"Do you think I should visit Jean?"

 

"Do you want to visit him?"

 

"I think it's more a question of whether or not _he_ wants me to visit him," Kevin says, and runs a hand through his hair. "Assuming, of course, that he wakes up." And doesn't acknowledging that possibility just make him feel that crushing guilt all over again? "I don't know if he'll want me to. I imagine he might hate me, given what happened."

 

"You ever ask if he hated you?" Wymack asks, and Kevin sighs, tired of the question-for-a-question routine.

 

"No," he says, and finally stands. "But I take your point. I'll go, if he wakes up, and if he'll see me."

 

"That's a lot of _if_ s," Wymack points out, and Kevin looks down at his shoes.

 

"They're all I have at the moment," he says, and a second later he feels his father's hand falling on his shoulder, and squeezing.

 

"No," he says. "They're not."

 

Kevin gives a little nod, unable to look at him right now, but he's touched by the gesture in more ways than one.

 

"I'm going to turn my phone off," he says, "The press are going to get hold of it eventually, and I'm disinclined to comment until I know what it is they want me to say."

 

"Then how will _they_ contact you?" Wymack asks. It's the first time Kevin has ever heard him say something genuinely _naive_ , and it almost makes him smile.

 

"They'll find a way."

 

"I can't let you sit around and wait for them to come and—"

 

Kevin holds up a hand.

 

"I'm not in any immediate danger right now. If something happened to me, it would all look even worse, and the one thing they can trust me to do is to keep my mouth shut. If they're going to..." He swallows, trying to sound steadier than he feels. " _Try something_ , it won't be now. All that will happen now is a conversation."

 

A conversation that Kevin needs to be ready for— but he intends to be.

 

Wymack looks disturbed by the suggestion, but he lets Kevin go back to his own apartment anyway, and much as Kevin had been grateful for the company, he's grateful for the space and peace, too, once the door closes behind him.

 

He has to prepare for his eventual confrontation with the Moriyamas, and he knows it, but there's something else he has to prepare for first.

 

Without his father to watch him, Kevin sinks down onto the couch and finally lets his mind turn to the thing he has been trying not to think about: the possibility that the person who's torn a bloody hole in the Moriyama empire is none other than Neil Josten.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A question: was Kevin the only one fooled by "Nathaniel's" gambit during the first half of this chapter, or did anyone reading buy it, too? I'm curious.
> 
> Also, I know nobody cares about the Monster-replacements I've had to include here because Andrew et al. are absent, but for the sake of clarity—
> 
>  **Claire** (goalie) is basically a lesbian Kevin with less talent; she's pretty focused and dedicated, she's just not that good at Exy.  
>  **Bobby** (backliner) is a gentler Nicky; he's a soft bisexual idiot who loves the team more than the game, and has an unfortunate crush on an oblivious Neil.  
>  **Evan** (backliner) is Andrew without the talent or family commitment; he's here because he has nowhere better to be, and Exy fanatics irritate him.  
>  **Tina** (striker) would have a lot in common with Aaron; she's mostly here for the scholarship, and could take or leave Exy, really.
> 
> Not quite the same, of course, but some small parallels which might give you a better idea of what Neil and Kevin have been dealing with— Mostly Kevin, of course, because Neil's not here anymore. 
> 
> So where is he? Well, we'll find out next week, maybe...
> 
> Thanks again for reading! ❤️


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter five— closing in on the home stretch!

Kevin Day is a man of rational ideas.

 

He's always thought of himself as a _solid_ person— logical, methodical, practical, analytical, deliberate. He doesn't go off half-cocked, doesn't over-react (despite what anyone says), doesn't get gut feelings and hunches and mad ideas; he bases his decisions on evidence and reality and— Well, all right, maybe a lot of the time, also on fear. But fear isn't just an emotion, it's the culmination of a number of ideas, many of which can be perfectly rational.

 

Neil Josten is not a man of rational ideas.

 

In fact, Neil Josten isn't even a man at all— he's a persona, a fabrication dreamed into being by Nathaniel Wesninski... Or by the person who used to be Nathaniel Wesninski, and who is, perhaps, now something in between.

 

In order to determine whether or not Neil was responsible for exposing the Moriyamas, Kevin first has to ask himself if Neil actually exists.

 

A rational man would say it's impossible to know without more information. A rational man would say that perhaps "Neil" should be taken at his word, believed when he says he was working for the Moriyamas. But if Kevin is to take him at his word...

 

He said he'd stay, and that was a lie, too: he was in the wind within hours, disappearing like smoke— and without leaving even the scent of it behind, this time.

 

What if that was some kind of message?

 

What was it he'd said? Disappearing half-way through the season would _look bad for his employers_. Something like that. And then he'd gone and done it anyway. At the time, Kevin had assumed that had simply been a cover to avoid any further debate or discussion on the issue, that it was one more drop in an ocean of lies, but now that he thinks about it...

 

What if it _was_ some kind of back-handed message? What if Neil had been hoping that once Kevin calmed down, he would figure it out? He thinks about the way Neil had looked when he said _There's nothing I can say will make you believe that I'm not working for them_ , how he had said it with that terrible blank expression which had stolen over him before he'd become so hard and so sharp. He thinks about the way Neil had looked when he'd said _You liked me_ , about the way he'd laughed, and about the way he'd sounded, for a moment, the way he always had.

 

Kevin thinks about the fact that though all of this, he has been thinking of _him_ only as Neil.

 

 _(That's the only name I ever want you to call me._ )

 

So: yes. Neil exists.

 

This is not a rational decision. Kevin knows this. He has no proof, nothing he could bring to anyone else and say _I know he was lying, but he wasn't lying about all of it_.

 

Still. He believes. He knows.

 

Neil is a liar, but not a lie.

 

So, assuming "Neil" to be a real person, assuming most of the things he told Kevin to be true, assuming his actions to be genuine, assuming his affection to be genuine... How likely is it that he was the one to set the Moriyamas up?

 

What is it they say it always boils down to? _Means, motive, opportunity_.Kevin is a rational man, however much his emotions might be working him over right now. He can think this through, rationally.

 

Means. Motive. Opportunity.

 

Does he have the means? However much Neil Josten might be in one sense real, the fact remains that he was raised Nathaniel Wesninski. He has years of experience in the family business, one way or another; even if he hadn't rejoined his father after his years on the run, he'd spent that time with his mother, so he'd undoubtedly learned a few tricks there. Besides that— Much as he frustrated Kevin on a daily (hourly) basis, he was incredibly sharp: naturally, inherently. He's smart enough, skilled enough, to do it, and Kevin had provided him with so much of the information he needed. He'd told Neil about Riko, about Jean, about why he had attacked Kevin— not about the family, not about the Moriyamas, no, but enough about Kevin's old life to know that Riko was a maniac, that in Kevin's absence Jean would be the full target of his rage, that losing the Championship would unhinge him completely. He could figure out a way to use that if he wanted to.

 

Yes. He had the means.

 

What would be his motive? If he really hadn't joined back up with his father... To destabilise the Moriyamas so that in the wake of Nathan's death, they might finally topple completely, and he might be free? Even if it didn't completely work, they'd be distracted enough that he would be small beans in the grand scheme of things. And... There's another possibility, one almost too appealing to really believe, but... If Neil is really _Neil_ , if his affection for Kevin is genuine, then maybe he would want to clear a path back to the court for Kevin. After all, Kevin would want it for him, so couldn't Neil want it for Kevin? He might even want it for both of them, and if the Riko and the Master were removed from play, it could be a possibility. Kevin would do anything to get Neil back, to have him play for Foxes again— _with_ Kevin this time, instead of _for_ him. He would do anything to be able to give Exy back to him. He hopes Neil would know that, but he can't count on it. Given the way he'd reacted to the truth about Neil's identity, there's no guarantee that Neil would realise that Kevin has since calmed down enough to consider that Neil was working against him was the biggest lie of all. He hopes —he hopes more than he has ever hoped about anything— but he can't take it as given.

 

But yes. He had a motive. (More than one possible motive, in fact.)

 

As for opportunity...? With the remnants of his father's organisation in chaos, nobody would be looking for him. Nobody would even know he was alive. He was a ghost to them, and a ghost can do nearly anything without being a suspect. If he got the right information together in the right way, and if he used some of his mother's contacts to pull some of the right strings... He was certainly unobserved, and at enough of a distance to pull it off without detection if he didn't pull those strings too obviously or too hard...

 

Yes. He had the opportunity, a golden opportunity.

 

He had all three.

 

So what conclusion does the _rational_ man draw, then?

 

It's getting light again as Kevin tries not to draw the only conclusion that makes sense. He stumbles out on the balcony to meet the new day, folding his arms across the railing and resting his forehead on them.

 

In the end, he can only conclude that he had gotten a post-match message from Neil, after all.

 

It just wasn't the one he expected.

 

* * *

 

It takes one week —one very stressful, shaky week of waiting— before the Moriyamas come for him.

 

It happens late in the evening: the sound of soft knocking on his apartment door, which is something that hasn't happened since Neil disappeared. His father does nothing softly, least of all beg entrance, and the other Foxes would probably sooner hang themselves than darken his door. With Neil it was different— quiet but quick, and self-conscious. This is quiet but deliberate, and insistent.

 

This is not someone begging entry; this is someone assured of their right to enter, and who is merely observing a formality. That could have been anyone on Moriyama business, but a hideous tingle in his gut (one _a rational man_ would ignore) that tells Kevin it is nothing so bland.

 

Rational men might rest easier, but irrational men experience fewer surprises. 

 

Ichirou Moriyama is a familiar face to Kevin, not that they've ever met in person. Kevin has seen his face as a full-page photo alongside the articles Riko would read before tossing them angrily at the wall, as a speck watching them play from the East Tower, as the shadow that blotted out the one who cast the shadow that blotted out Kevin himself.

 

He is preceded by two large bodyguards, and that's actually a relief, because it gives Kevin time to prepare for the shock of coming face to face with him.

 

"Kevin Day," he says, and as soon as he hears the words spoken in that soft, powerful voice, he knows he's not nearly prepared enough.

 

"Lord Moriyama," Kevin says, and his voice sounds a lot steadier than his spine feels as he bows. "My condolences on the death of your father."

 

Ichirou nods, and his bodyguards part like water so that he might step further into the apartment, looking around with measured curiosity.

 

"It would seem that the Foxhole Court is much smaller than Castle Evermore," he says, and Kevin knows he doesn't mean the stadium, or doesn't mean _just_ the stadium— he means all of this. Kevin's team, Kevin's apartment, Kevin's _life_.

 

"It will never be as grand," Kevin agrees. "But Riko and the Master will not return to Castle Evermore. The only family I have left is here, and so my place is here."

 

Ichirou seems to take that on board before sitting elegantly on the couch, and Kevin is fervently grateful that he had the place cleaned while he waited for them to make their move. After Neil disappeared, he'd let things go; considering there was nobody to notice but him, and he'd been too far gone to notice much of anything, cleaning hadn't been a priority.

 

Very little had been a priority then, a thought that only serves to remind him how different things are now, and how much he has to lose as Ichirou considers Kevin's surroundings and his words and his future.

 

"I could return them," he says, once it suits him to speak again.

 

"You could," Kevin agrees, because while it would be difficult and unwise, it would ultimately be _possible_. "But you will not. They have damaged your family's good name with their recklessness and their resentment of the natural order of things. The Master's desire to create his own fiefdom —your father's empire in miniature— and Riko's desire to be first —when he has been second to you since he first drew breath— are what have led us here. You are your father's heir. Your first act in the role would never be to reward such behaviour."

 

"You presume to know very much about me, Kevin Day," he says, and though his tone remains perfectly flat and cordial, something dangerous glints behind his eyes. It reminds Kevin of Riko in a way that makes his stomach drop.

 

"Your brother's obsession with you is not inconsequential, and I lived with him for twelve years. In truth I know little, but enough to be aware that to bring dishonour and trouble to your name is the greatest sin— and enough to know that his worth to you has been damaged irreparably."

 

"And do you not think that a refusal to return to Castle Evermore counts as another great sin, another great dishonour?"

 

It's not as if he doesn't have a point, but Kevin doesn't hesitate before replying; to do so now would almost certainly be death.

 

"I cannot refuse an offer which has not been made," he says simply. "They did not ask, nor did they order. I behaved poorly when I left— but I was injured and disturbed, and I thought I had no worth to them. I have not returned because I have not been told to, and because I can do more good here. If I returned to Castle Evermore now, it would appear as proof that Riko and the Master were all that kept me away. As long as I remain here, it is obvious that I came and have stayed because this is where my father is.

 

"And as long as I remain here," Kevin says, sucking in a deep breath before plunging into the oblique offer he has been leading up to making, "The more value I can have to you as an independent voice."

 

He holds out his hand for Ichirou to see; his expression does not change, but his gaze lingers on the tracery of scars routing across Kevin's pale skin.

 

"My injuries have healed at last, and my father is prepared to offer me a contract to play for the Foxes next year. I am prepared to sign it. If I do, I will become a voice to speak your words without any discernible continued connection to your family— with the ERC, with sponsors, with the public. If you choose not return Riko and the Master to their former positions, your business at Evermore will become more difficult until you can replace them with suitable candidates. I can be useful in that capacity; although to your family I am a small and inconsequential player, on the Exy stage I am much more, and I can use that to your advantage."

 

"You do not sound much like a man who enjoys his situation," Ichirou says, and perhaps there's a warning there, but Kevin is prepared for it.

 

Kevin has been preparing for it most of his life.

 

"Because I do not enjoy my situation," Kevin says, and like everything else he has said since Ichirou walked in the door, it is a truth he can bend to his own ends. "But I accept it. I have always accepted the natural order of things. I would never betray Riko, or you. It is not in my nature. I removed my tattoo only because I knew I would never play at Riko's side again. I thought I would never play again at all."

 

There's truth in that, too, and Ichirou seems to recognise it, then something like cold amusement passes over his face.

 

"You would never betray him unless you are injured and disturbed," Ichirou says, and Kevin's breath catches. "It would be unfortunate if you were ever _injured and disturbed_ again, in case your better judgement should fail you once more. One might think it would be better if you did not survive any future accidents at all."

 

The threat is so bald this time that Kevin feels light-headed for a minute, but for possibly the first time in his life, he holds his ground.

 

"My fate is in the hands of your family, as it has ever been," he says, then tries not to hurry as he continues: "Even so, my knowledge of the scope of your operations is limited— so limited, in fact, that there is precious little damage I could do to you, even if I were so cataclysmically stupid as try. Had I wanted to attempt that foolishness, I would have done it eighteen months ago when both my bones and my future were in pieces.

 

"Now I have the hope of a future again, and I could use that future in your service."

 

Ichirou considers this, and Kevin has to fight to keep his attention focused on him and not let it wander to the bodyguards, who don't seem to have moved so much as an inch since they arrived through the door.

 

"That will be insufficient compensation," he says, and it takes no effort at all to let the terror Kevin feels at those words show on his face. "A tithe will also be required to prove your continued loyalty, and to remind you of your place in our hierarchy. If Moreau should wake up, I will expect the same of him. Eighty percent seems reasonable, considering my family funded both your training."

 

The unfairness of it hits Kevin like dead weight— they didn't _fund his training_ , as if he was some random urchin who stumbled in off the street seeking shelter. Kayleigh Day _founded_ Exy, and they did not welcome him into their family so much as they ripped him from his own, but Kevin hadn't been lying when he said he accepted his place in their order of things. An argument would serve only to get him killed, and if Kevin might ever have risked that, he certainly won't now, not when he can almost feel the shape of a future at the edge of his fingertips.

 

What this really boils down to is the freedom to play again, and he would be a fool to do anything to jeopardise that, no matter how _unfair_ it might be.

 

"I will speak with him as soon as he wakes up," Kevin says— and again, Ichirou's expression doesn't change a jot; he had expected nothing less. "He will be grateful for your leniency."

 

Ichirou doesn't bother to tell him that it is contingent on him keeping his mouth shut; he doesn't need to, and they both know it.

 

Jean will know it too.

 

He's pretty sure Ichirou also knows the rest of what he's going to say, but he's going to say it anyway—

 

"The case will move on even if he does not testify."

 

"There will be no case," Ichirou says.

 

He does not mean he will pay off the witnesses, and Kevin knows he does not mean he will pay off the witnesses.

 

It's not a surprise, not really; when he'd told Wymack that _Ichirou will let them fall all the way down_ , he knew that included the possibility that meant to the end of the drop, but he hadn't anticipated it would come so _soon_. Ichirou's expression is as calm as if they were discussing their weekend plans rather than the imminent murder of his brother ( _their_ brother, depending on your perspective: his and Kevin's), and Kevin knows this is a test.

 

He had said he would not betray Riko, but he'd also said he accepted his place in the order of things. To speak for him would be to tell Ichirou his business, and that's worth more than Kevin's life.

 

(Worth more than Riko's life, too, apparently.)

 

"It is not merely my fate that is in your hands," he says, at last.

 

Ichirou tilts his head lightly, and rises smoothly to his feet.

 

"You will be contacted to confirm arrangements once Moreau has regained consciousness— or not," he says, and gives Kevin a slow once-over before turning his back and disappearing out the door, seemingly having dismissed him for the moment.

 

Kevin sinks onto the couch, consciously avoiding the seat where Ichirou had sat (he has the mad thought that he'll probably never be able to sit there again, then realises it doesn't matter since he will have to give this apartment up if he's going to be a student again so he can play for the Foxes) and re-runs the conversation over and over again —thinking about the future, and the past, and the present— until the sky begins to darken outside.

 

At the appearance of the first stars, he reaches for his phone, and calls his father.

 

"I expect to be starting striker," he says, and his father's laughter sounds as relieved as Kevin feels.

 

* * *

 

In the weeks that follow, Kevin knows he is being watched.

 

He sees nobody, and rarely even _feels_ anybody, but he still knows they are there— waiting, watching, making sure.

 

At no point in the conversation did Ichirou mention the possibility that Kevin was their anonymous whistleblower, and probably he is nearly as sure as Kevin is that there's no way Kevin could have been responsible, but unlike his brother, Ichirou is a man of due diligence, and so of course he has to _check_.

 

Kevin does only what would be expected of him under the circumstances.

 

He goes to the stadium and spends every hour training that his body will tolerate. He goes grocery shopping. He visits Abby and his father. He checks books out of the library, and watches television, and goes for runs— All of it with the vague awareness of a set of eyes on him constantly.

 

He cannot yet officially sign for the Foxes —not while the Moriyama story is still such fresh news— but he signs a contract backdated to match the date of his employment contract that says if he's ever fit to play again, he will only play for PSU. He bids his new teammates goodbye when they leave for the summer break, and to his astonishment, he's pulled into a quick hug by Dan. _Welcome to the team, asshole_ , is whispered into his ear before she shoves him away.

 

He also goes to see Jean.

 

He wakes almost as if on cue, the morning after Ichirou's visit to Kevin; Kevin is at his bedside in only the time it takes for him to drive to the hospital in West Virginia.

 

Jean looks worse than Kevin has ever seen him, and Kevin has seen him after Riko's fits of temper many times before. One eye is covered with a thick cotton patch, his left arm and part of his chest submerged in a cast (he wonders if it was Kevin himself Riko was seeing when he did that, considering that Jean is right-handed), and his hair looks like it's been ripped from his scalp in a couple of places.

 

Jesus _Christ_. What the hell was Riko thinking?

 

Except he wasn't thinking, of course. He's never thinking when he does things like this. That's the reason Ichirou is going to—

 

He doesn't want to think about it, even if he knows they're going to have to talk about it.

 

Assuming Jean will talk to him at all, that is; he turns his good eye towards Kevin, then looks away again without speaking.

 

Kevin takes the lack of a _Fuck off_ as encouragement to drag over a chair and sit by his bedside, and they sit, in not-entirely-companionable silence, for a long time.

 

"Tell me," Jean says, eventually, startling Kevin out of his reverie.

 

Kevin doesn't do either of them the disservice of saying he would have come even if he hadn't something important to say. He would have, but Jean either knows that already or wouldn't believe him if he said it now.

 

"Lord Ichirou came to see me yesterday," Kevin says. He didn't think Jean could get any paler, but apparently there had been colour enough that its departure is immediately evident, and Kevin holds up a hand. "It's not bad. That is, it could be worse."

 

Kevin lays it all out for him— the terror, the threat, the tithes. Jean doesn't say a single word through all of it, looking past Kevin and out into the hall. In the end, it isn't the promise of a future or the injustice of having to give away most of the proceeds of it that prompts Jean to speak; in the end, the only thing that holds his interest is vengeance.

 

"He will kill him?"

 

Perhaps _vengeance_ isn't the right word, Kevin thinks, gaze flicking from Jean's battered face to the plaster wrapped around his ribs to the dead look in his one visible eye.

 

Maybe _justice_ is better.

 

Kevin closes his eyes against it all, and says his last goodbye to Riko.

 

"Yes. He's going to kill him."

 

The relief on Jean's face is immediate, and the sound he makes is indescribable. He places his good hand over his face and sobs, and Kevin's chest aches— for him, for the boy Riko once was, for himself, for Nathaniel, for the children they were and the men they became, for the way the world hurt them, and the ways in which they hurt each other.

 

"Don't ask me the details; he didn't share them. And I don't want to know." He doesn't even really want it to be happening, in fact, but he can't say that to Jean, not while he lies here in ragged scraps. "And that's not what we should be focusing on. What matters for us is that we are safe."

 

" _Not what we should be focusing on_ ," Jean repeats, his accent bleeding back into the words thicker than ever. "That is easy to say when you are not the one lying in a hospital bed, wondering if he will ever play again, and if he is truly safe at all."

 

"Do you think that is better than being _certain_ you will never play again? Safety was almost an irrelevant concern, then," Kevin snaps, and is briefly gratified by the way Jean flinches before he feels only guilt. "I'm sorry," he says gruffly, and he's just exactly self-aware enough to marvel at how very like his father he sounds in his apologies, and how like his mother he sounds in the things that prompt them.

 

He's not nearly self-aware enough to figure out how he feels about it, but that doesn't matter right now. The only thing that matters is this:

 

"But I will be back on the court come August— And so will you."

 

To Kevin's horror, though Jean looks more disturbed than comforted.

 

"You say that like it is a positive."

 

"Isn't it?"

 

Jean finally looks away, out towards the window.

 

"I don't want to go back to Evermore."

 

The words catch Kevin off-guard, but they shouldn't. Jean loved Exy, but not in the way Kevin did, or even the way Riko did. ( _And definitely not the way Neil did_ , his mind supplies.) Kevin would have gone back to Evermore if it had meant playing again, and he would have _run_ back if he hadn't had a place to be that was infinitely better... Though maybe there's something he can do about that for Jean, too.

 

"Leave it with me," he says, standing up from his chair.

 

"Leave what with— Kevin, I will not play for your father's band of misfit losers."

 

The comment rankles, and Kevin's mouth thins.

 

"I would not ask you to," he says, because the Foxes will have enough to deal with next year with Kevin as their teammate instead of their coach; add another caustic, cutting personality to the mix and he strongly suspects there would be nothing short of disaster. "I had something else in mind."

 

"What else is there?" Jean says, and he looks so damned hopeless that Kevin has to give him _something_ , even if he isn't entirely sure he can deliver on it yet.

 

"The Trojans," he says, and Jean just gawps at him.

 

"You cannot be serious," he says, and Kevin gives a one-shouldered shrug.

 

"Well, I can't be joking. You don't want to go back to the Ravens. You don't want to come to the Foxes. Who else is there? The Lions wouldn't take you with everything that's happened. You can't afford to go to a lesser team in case it interferes with your chances of a professional career. It's the Trojans, or back to Evermore."

 

" _They will not take me_ ," Jean grinds out, and it's then that Kevin realises that it's not that he doesn't _want_ to go, it's that he thinks he wouldn't be wanted, which— Well.

 

Kevin can relate to that, a little, and the flood of empathy makes him look away.

 

"They will. Their defense line is about to be their weakest point, and you have always been the strongest point of our— Of the _Ravens_ ' backliners," Kevin says, horrified at how easily that _ours_ had almost slipped out of his mouth once he was talking to Jean again. "You were earmarked for Court for good reason. Jeremy is no fool, and he won't be afraid of whatever attention it brings them, either. They'll take you because it's the right thing to do: for their team, and in general."

 

Jean looks at him for a long time, and Kevin waits for the refusal, for the argument, for the condescension, but it doesn't come.

 

"You've changed," is all he says, at last.

 

"Maybe we all have."

 

"I should be so lucky," Jean says, and Kevin frowns.

 

"There's nothing wrong with who you are," he says gently. "Only where you were. Maybe that's what needed to change for both of us."

 

"Blasphemy," Jean reminds him, and Kevin curls his hands into fists at his thighs.

 

"God is dead," Kevin says, and that brings to Jean's face the first flicker of anything like pleasure that Kevin can remember in years. He hadn't meant it to be so much a comfort, but he supposes to Jean it couldn't be anything else.

 

"Not yet," Jean says, his voice sounding as tentatively happy as his smile looks. "But soon."

 

* * *

 

He's right.

 

Kevin doesn't get the news until later that night, but not long after Kevin left the hospital (not long after he spoke the words _God is dead_ , in fact), Riko —still in custody, with bail having been set at an extortionate price, and nobody prepared to cross Ichirou to pay it— falls victim to "prison violence".

 

The news comes to Kevin via a three-word text message from his father which only reads _Riko is dead_.

 

Had he known? He hadn't known. On some level, he thinks he should have known; for twelve years, he and Riko had been closer than brothers, had been closer than twins, had been trained and treated and tortured like two arms of the same body, but while he lay dying, Kevin was driving back to Palmetto, and he'd felt nothing at all.

 

He hadn't been thinking about Riko, he'd been thinking about—

 

Someone else.

 

Now, though: now he needs to think about Riko.

 

There will be a memorial, and he will have to go. So will Jean. Ichirou will almost certainly be there, as will the other Ravens, and former Ravens. It occurs to him that Thea will be there, and Kevin's not sure yet how much to tell her— as little as possible, preferably; she is a Raven to the end, so her discretion can be trusted absolutely, but Kevin doesn't want to burden her with ugly truths unnecessarily. It also occurs to him that the Master might be granted Compassionate Release for the day, and Kevin knows even less of what to say to _him_ if the situation arises.

 

Instead of responding to his father, he makes his way into the bedroom to look through his wardrobe so he can select something suitable to wear for the event, but he only finds himself staring stupidly at the closet doors, wondering why he isn't feeling anything.

 

He's still there an hour later when his father comes to investigate his lack of response.

 

* * *

 

The memorial service comes, and goes.

 

He talks to Thea. He talks to the Master. He talks to Jeremy.

 

(He tells her what he can. He remains cordial and deferential. He pleads Jean's case.)

 

He still feels nothing.

 

It's not until they're driving back that it really hits him in its entirety: Riko is _gone_.

 

"Pull over," he says, making a faint gesture. "I think I'm going to be sick."

 

They do.

 

And he is.

 

"You all right?" his father asks, and to his credit, he doesn't look at Kevin when he speaks, just pulls back onto the road. It's not an idle question, though, and neither is his refusal to look in Kevin's direction.

 

It's exactly what Kevin needs, so he's grateful for it.

 

(Well. It's half of what he needs, anyway— and half of _who_.)

 

"I don't suppose we could pull over again to get something to drink?" Kevin inquires, which is about as much answer as he knows how to give right now.

 

"Do you need to?"

 

Kevin ponders that question for a long time as the scenery whips past them in an ugly blur. Does he need to?

 

After Neil had disappeared, he had very much needed to— he swung between feeling nothing and feeling too much, and had no idea what to do with either one, so he'd needed the booze to keep him on a relatively even keel.

 

Once he'd been able to start playing again, the numbness had disappeared, so he'd knocked the drinking on the head— and though that sense of _too much feeling_ had crept back in before Riko's death, and though he still didn't know what to do with it, Kevin had a very strong impetus to keep a clear mind.

 

The news of Riko's death had brought the numbness rushing back, and Kevin was too aware of how much there was to be done to attend to it, or worry about it: he'd felt hollow, and that was fine. He was so busy that it didn't matter.

 

Now it's starting to recede, though, seeping away out of his limbs and his mind and his heart, and he feels—

 

What, exactly?

 

Regretful. Sad. Relieved.

 

And—

 

And that's all.

 

He feels again— but this time, feeling doesn't feel overwhelming, and the contrast is so stark he's glad he's the only one to know it.

 

It had been so much worse when Neil left, when he started to think that maybe Neil hadn't been lying about everything, when he thinks about his future without Neil in it...

 

...And that's the crux of the thing, isn't it?

 

He'd been right before when he'd thought that there was no room left in his heart for anyone else.

 

Everything he feels for Riko now is dimmed, dull, and diminished, because Kevin isn't his anymore. There's regret that he became such a monster, sadness that he never had the chance to turn his life around, and relief that he can never hurt Kevin or anyone else again, but all of it feels far-away: like a closed chapter, something distant.

 

When he thinks about Neil, everything feels sharp and pressing and immediate and _vital_.

 

Just like Neil himself.

 

They pass a sign that indicates a rest stop up ahead, and finally, Kevin shakes his head.

 

He doesn't feel nothing, he doesn't feel too much, and he knows exactly what to do with that.

 

It isn't booze he needs; it's something else entirely.

 

"I'm all right," he says. "Keep going."

 

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees his father nod. Kevin nods back, and presses himself into the seat; a moment later, he feels a warm hand on his shoulder.

 

"Keep going," he repeats, more to himself than anyone else.

 

He wants to get home.

 

He has a trip to plan.

 

Five days later, Kevin finds himself punching _Hamilton, MT_ into the rental car's GPS, feeling lighter for every mile he puts between himself and his past, and better for every mile that brings him closer to his future.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next week: the final chapter. Will Neil realise Kevin is sending up a flare? Will he come if he does? Will they be able to manage honesty and forgiveness and maybe forge a future? Stay tuned to find out!
> 
> But firstly— let me thank each and every one of you who has read this story as it unfolded. It's meant an incredible amount to me, and I appreciate the support here and on Tumblr so much. You guys have been amazing. ❤️


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here we are, the literal final chapter.
> 
> I'm so overwhelmed by how kind everyone has been about this story— I appreciate it so much! You guys have been terrific, and I'm just amazed that people took the time to comment throughout, so I really hope this final chapter lives up to your expectations in closing out Neil and Kevin's story. ❤️

It's amazing how quickly the human mind adapts. Kevin had almost completely forgotten what it felt like to be the centre of so much media attention, and he's glad to be on the road and alone to get away from the mess the last few weeks have been— even if at the moment, that attention is serving a purpose.

 

If Neil is out there, he'll be watching the news, watching Kevin.

 

If Neil is out there, he'll see that Kevin showing up in Hamilton, Montana —out of all the places in the world, out of all the weeks in his life— is very clearly a sign.

 

It's hardly kind of place he would have picked if not for Neil, after all: it's in the middle of nowhere, and _tiny_ ; there isn't even a proper hotel.

 

The motel turns out nicer than Kevin had expected, however: it's clean, the bed is comfortable, and the Wifi is good enough that he can watch games on his laptop. He supposes he'll have to get used to life at this level now he's going to be a Fox; they can't offer their players the same standards the Ravens could, and while Kevin and Wymack got slightly better treatment as Coaches, now he's going to be a player, he's going to have to muck in with the rest.

 

He finds he doesn't mind that thought as much as he might have done once, especially if things play out like he hopes they will.

 

It seems like a sign when, on the day after he gets into town, another news story hits: Tetsuji Moriyama has been moved to the prison hospital, having taken sick at the death of his 'beloved nephew'; reports are conflicting, but the general consensus is that he won't last more than another month or two.

 

Kevin knows he should feel something, and this time he does: pure and simple relief.

 

Which is a relief in itself, really.

 

He makes a point of going down to the little fitness centre every day just so he's seen— and to the grocery store, the parks, and the coffee shops. He visits the local historical sites, and the bookstores, though he avoids the bars and liquor stores, careful to look like more like he's trying to mourn quietly than he is celebrating, though the truth is really somewhere in between: he's not happy, nor is he devastated.

 

He's simply waiting.

 

He waits for three days, and on the fourth, his prayers are answered: he comes home from his run to find Neil Josten sitting in the parking lot.

 

...Except...

 

That's not quite right, is it?

 

As any of the Foxes could attest (and did, repeatedly, to the police when reporting his disappearance), Neil Josten had brown hair and brown eyes— and except for when he was on the court, had always looked like he wanted to fade away into the background. It was Nathaniel Wesninski whose hair had been auburn, whose eyes had been such a piercing blue that Kevin had remembered them for years, and who was loud enough and mouthy enough that he was completely impossible to overlook.

 

The man sitting in front of Kevin now is somewhere between the two: Nathaniel's looks, and Neil's way of blending in. He looks perfectly at ease in ratty jeans and a frayed t-shirt, sitting atop a beaten-up looking Ford that's parked in the spot next to Kevin's rental, a cigarette held loosely between his fingers as he watches Kevin's gait stutter to a stop once he clocks him.

 

He inclines his head slightly, waiting to see what Kevin will do.

 

He's not the only one.

 

It puts Kevin very much in mind of how he had carefully plotted each step of his escape route from Evermore as he went —from street to ATM to taxi to diversion to taxi to hotel, until finally he arrived at his father's door and only then realised he had no idea what he should tell him— except this is worse: his flight from Evermore had been a spontaneous thing, but at the back of his mind, Kevin has been planning this for days.

 

Weeks, maybe.

 

Perhaps even months, since the very first time the thought _What if Nathaniel was never working for the Moriyamas at all_ entered his head.

 

...And now Kevin finds himself standing ten feet away from him, but hasn't the faintest notion of what he should say.

 

 _I'm sorry_ is too small; _I missed you_ is too cheap; _I love you_ is too frightening.

 

In the end, he settles for—

 

"Are you Neil, or Nathaniel?"

 

He looks at Kevin for a long time before asking. "What do you think?"

 

"I think," Kevin says slowly, "I think: somewhere in between."

 

"And which one do you want?"

 

There's only one answer Kevin can give to that, and the words are out before he even has to think about them.

 

"I want you."

 

Whatever he calls himself, whatever he thinks of himself as, Kevin wants _him_. He wants the man in front of him now, who does not work for the Moriyamas and who never did, who might just be the reason for the contract with Kevin's name on it that is locked safely in his father's desk, who is definitely the reason Kevin started to play again at all, who himself plays like he has everything to lose, and who is looking at Kevin with the same desperate, hopeful look he'd worn in another town just over a a year ago, even though it feels like a lifetime has passed since then.

 

 _Him_. That's who Kevin wants. Everything else is background noise, but he still has to ask—

 

"What do I call you?"

 

"The only name I ever want you to call me," Neil says, and then Kevin is crossing the distance between them, pulling Neil off the car and into his arms.

 

He might not look the same, but he _feels_ the same, _smells_ the same, and as his lips graze across the curve of Kevin's neck as he buries his face in Kevin's shoulder, he can only wonder if Neil _tastes_ the same, too.

 

" _Neil_ ," Kevin says, and Neil's arms tighten around him so much that he struggles to breathe for a minute.

 

He still doesn't let go, but propriety is more of an issue than oxygen, and eventually he has to gently dislodge Neil's arms from around his waist.

 

"Come in with me," he says, catching Neil's slightly forlorn expression. "We have a lot to talk about, and I don't think the side of the road is really the best place for it."

 

Neil doesn't say another word as he follows Kevin into the lobby. Kevin makes his way over to the receptionist fully intending to ask for another room for his friend, but before he can ask, she brightens up and gives Neil a big smile.

 

"Hey, Neil," she says, and Kevin's heart about stops in his chest.

 

Neil's answering smile is warm, but Kevin can see a tiny hint of tension below it along his jaw— and discovers, to his surprise, that somehow he's not too shocked to think about kissing it.

 

"Hi, Misha," Neil says, folding his arms over the counter. "How are you?"

 

"I'm great, thanks," she says, then her gaze slides over to Kevin, clearly curious, but too professional to ask the question. Neil laughs, an easy sound that Kevin can pick out as hollow even after all these months apart, but it seems to have the receptionist fooled.

 

"Kevin and I go way back," he says, and she nods, gaze flicking between them, trying to make the connection; clearly enough of an Exy fan to recognise Kevin, but not enough of one that the name Josten rings any bells.

 

Kevin despairs of people sometimes.

 

"So we've got a lot to talk about," Neil continues, digging the point of his sneaker into Kevin's ankle, presumably because he hadn't cared for his expression. "Speaking of— I hate to ask on short notice, but can we push Michael's lesson back until Thursday? I'd be happy to do a second hour free if you'll let me catch up with my friend for the evening."

 

"Sure thing," she says, "But you don't need to go handing out freebies, Neil. Go spend some time with your friend— He could use the company," she adds, then her eyes widen when she realises how that sounded. "I didn't mean—"

 

Kevin holds up a hand and finally finds his voice.

 

"Not at all— And you're right, of course. After everything, I could use some quiet time with an old friend. We'll probably go out, but if we call for take-out later, will you send him up?"

 

"Sure thing," she says, giving Kevin a relieved-looking smile. "You boys have fun."

 

Kevin doesn't know what to say to that— He's not sure _fun_ is the appropriate adjective, so he just smiles and nods, taking Neil by the elbow and guiding him down the hall.

 

"What _lesson_?"

 

"I teach German and French," Neil says, shrugging only very faintly— presumably, Kevin thinks, so he won't dislodge Kevin's hand from where it's still curled around his elbow.

 

"You speak French?" Kevin asks, surprised, because he'd certainly never heard Neil utter a word of it at Palmetto. "But you were studying Spanish."

 

"I wasn't going to miss the opportunity to learn a new language," Neil says, in perfect French— and then something else in what Kevin is pretty sure is German, but which he doesn't understand.

 

At his blank look, Neil gives him a cheeky smile as they round the corner. Kevin reaches for his keycard to unlock his room, and finds his fingers are numb and tingling; for a minute, he's filled with blind panic that his injury is flaring up before he realises: it's just _excitement_.

 

It is an alien sensation, since he's never been this excited before— not about anything other than Exy, anyway.

 

It's a weird feeling, but he thinks he might like it.

 

"You have the French... But not the German, I'm guessing?"

 

"Shut up," Kevin says, crowding him against the door of his room and feeling his heart do double-time as Neil looks up at him.

 

"Is that really what you want?" Neil says, and the confidence in his gaze fills Kevin's stomach up with so much warmth that he almost doesn't know what to do with himself.

 

"I want a lot of things," Kevin says, and Neil's smile slides from cheeky to something more sincere.

 

"That doesn't mean you can't have them."

 

He plucks the card from Kevin's unresisting fingers and jams it into the slot behind himself.

 

The door falls open.

 

Neil falls with it, and he takes Kevin down with him.

 

* * *

 

Afterwards, Neil drags Kevin into the shower and keeps him there until he's pretty sure they've wasted the entire hotel's supply of water.

 

He doesn't feel as guilty about it as he should.

 

When they come out, there's a moment of hesitation about whether or not they put their clothes back on or get in the bed, but Kevin feels too lazy to bother re-dressing, so he tumbles Neil onto it, warmed by his soft huff of amusement. He takes a minute to look at him up close now that the fire has died out of his veins a little: propping himself up on his elbows, he cards his fingers through Neil's hair, and stares.

 

It's uncanny, how he looks _the same, but different_ , and how Kevin can see shades of Palmetto's Neil and Evermore's Nathaniel in him, as well as something entirely new: something more solid, and more comfortable.

 

He has the growing suspicion that he likes that most of all.

 

"I don't think this counts as talking, either," Neil says finally, and Kevin bites his shoulder for it.

 

"I'm putting it off."

 

"Why?"

 

"Because I've had six months to fume and stew about it, and I'm not in any rush to get back to that," he says, but rolls himself the short distance to Neil's side. "I'm also not sure I can trust myself not to choke you."

 

"You could consider apologising," Neil says, and Kevin puts one hand over his face.

 

"I don't know which one is a worse idea. Or which one is more merited."

 

Neil snorts quietly at that and traces the backs of his fingers across Kevin's side.

 

"Fine," Kevin sighs eventually. "Tell me everything."

 

"Everything," Neil repeats, looking dubious.

 

"From the beginning," Kevin says. "That can be your apology for lying to me for half a year."

 

"Where's _yours_ , for believing that I was only there to spy on you?"

 

"I'm sorry."

 

Neil already has his mouth open and another angry retort on his tongue before the words register, but once they do, his brow creases and the words die before he can speak them. He's quiet for a long time, and in the silence, Kevin begins to play with his hair again. It's a different cut, too; shorter and bolder, and his hair is softer than Kevin remembers it, though the blunt ends scrape across his fingers as they work through the strands.

 

"I hated it," he finally says, ducking his face to hide it in Kevin's throat. "I hated that you believed me so easily. It was my only ticket out of there and I fucking _hated_ it, just like I hated you not remembering me."

 

"If I didn't remember you, I wouldn't have reacted the way I did when you said you were Nathaniel Wesninski. How could I not remember you, Neil? You were the most annoying little snot I'd ever met, arguing with me and Riko like that..." He shakes his head. "And then everything that happened afterwards— My first meeting with you was probably my most memorable first-meeting _ever_."

 

"What about Riko?"

 

"I don't really remember meeting Riko," Kevin says slowly. "He was always just _there_. I've known— Knew. I _knew_ him all my life," Kevin corrects, and wonders how long it will take before his 'acceptance' of Riko's death will filter through to the part of his brain that arranges his speech.

 

"Are you sorry he's dead?" Neil asks— and then, before Kevin can even answer, says: "Don't be."

 

"Jesus, Neil."

 

"I mean it, Kevin. He ruined your life. Worse, he _stole_ your life." Neil's expression is thunderous for a moment, and then it smooths out into something neutral, which Kevin knows always brings trouble. "Are you back playing again?" he asks, sounding perfectly innocent.

 

Kevin ignores the question for the moment.

 

"I know he did," he says, taking a small amount of satisfaction in the way Neil pouts at his refusal to rise to the bait. "Riko did so many awful things, and not all of them to me. Not even most of them to me, Neil. But I still remember the way he was when we were children."

 

"He was a bully," Neil says sharply.

 

"We both were," Kevin reminds him. "You took issue with both of us, remember?"

 

"It was different. You were just obsessed with making everyone little perfect cogs in your grand Exy machine, which was... Annoying, when you wouldn't consider anybody else's point of view, but that's _all_ it was. With him, it was about power. About control. Even then."

 

"It really was you, wasn't it?"

 

Neil's smile is knife-sharp.

 

"What happened to 'start at the beginning', Kevin?"

 

Payback for skipping the playing question, Kevin knows, and all he can do is curl his hand around Neil's jaw and stroke along it with his thumb.

 

"Tell me," he says, and Neil rubs into his touch like a cat.

 

"Do you really want the details?"

 

Kevin considers that for a long time— and then, eventually, says:

 

"Yes. I actually do."

 

Neil shuts his eyes, and lays it all out for him.

 

* * *

 

_I'll give you the beginning. Some day. Not today; there's too much, and I don't remember all of it. I don't_ _want_ _to remember all of it. But I do remember waking up that night after we'd played together, and my mother hustling me out of the house. I didn't know why, then, and I was so angry that she picked_ _that night_ _to take me, of all nights, when the next morning I was supposed to go back to Court's home turf to play with champions._

 

_She was angry that I was angry, but she didn't tell me why._

 

_She_ _never_ _told me why, Kevin— so when you came for me in Millport, I had no clue who my father was to the Moriyamas, or what they'd intended for me, or what your place in all of this was. I watched you all those years, and I thought your life was perfect. I thought it was the life that should have been mine. I was so jealous, and eventually that jealousy turned into wanting, and then you were standing in my locker room and I was so sure you'd come because you'd figured out who I was._

 

_I didn't think about_ _why_ _you'd have come, then; like I said, I didn't know anything, least of all that my father worked for the Moriyamas. I just assumed they were business partners, maybe, or at least allies— neighbours. So maybe I should have, but I didn't stop to wonder why they'd have sent you. I did what I'd been conditioned to do any time I saw a familiar face: run._

 

_But you caught me. And then I realised you hadn't the slightest idea who I was, you just wanted me because I can play._

 

_It was both the best and worst moment of my life._

 

_You'd forgotten me. But you wanted me now. And you and Coach were offering... You were offering me everything I ever wanted. A home. A future. A contract. A chance to be with you. And I knew it was stupid to say yes, and I knew my mother would have hated me for it—_

 

* * *

 

"She's really dead?" Kevin interrupts, and Neil opens one eye to glare at him.

 

"She's really dead. You didn't do _any_ research after I left?"

 

Kevin's expression is just as unimpressed as Neil's.

 

"What could I do— call up Riko and ask him to inquire how things were going with his estranged father's henchmen's search for his missing wife? I feel like that might have attracted attention I didn't want. And that I didn't want for you, either," Kevin says, and Neil's expression softens a little.

 

He leans in to nuzzle along the line of Kevin's throat.

 

"I didn't want to think you'd call me in," he says quietly, and Kevin's heart clenches. "I gambled that you wouldn't, after you calmed down. I wouldn't have given you my name, otherwise, and that's why I said —right before I disappeared— that my _employer_ would look badly if I vanished. I was hoping that you'd realise later that meant I wasn't employed by anybody, so I didn't have to worry about them. But in the heat of the moment, I couldn't take the chance of telling you straighter. Not when you didn't believe me."

 

"Neil, I'm sorry—"

 

"I'm sorry, too." Neil's eyes are big and blue and full of unhappiness. "So can we stop apologising now? We lied and we kept secrets and we doubted each other and it was wrong. I was wrong, you were wrong. But we're past that now."

 

"Would you ever have told me?"

 

Neil thinks about it for a long time before he answers.

 

"No," he says, finally. "Not unless I got caught somehow, like what happened with the binder. I wouldn't have known how. And it would have killed me, as well as killing _this_. I'd have known it would have made a difference to you, but I wouldn't have known how to tell you. Not because I'd have been afraid that you'd turn me in— It would never have occurred to you to do that if I'd come to you and told you, would it?"

 

Kevin shakes his head mutely, and Neil leans in to press a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth.

 

"That's what I thought. But it would still have killed us if you'd found out later, wouldn't it? Me keeping it from you all those years."

 

"Yes," Kevin says, and Neil looks away.

 

"I know. I knew. Even if you'd never turn me in, you couldn't have lived with it. What would you have done?"

 

"I would have told you to run."

 

"So that's exactly what I did," Neil says, and Kevin drops his forehead to Neil's shoulder.

 

He's right, of course, much as it hurts. They'd failed to trust each other, but not completely; Neil had still given Kevin his name, and Kevin had let Neil walk away without reporting him to anyone.

 

It wasn't much, but maybe it was enough to build on going forward.

 

It would have to be.

 

It can be, as long as they're straight with each other from here on out.

 

"Tell me the rest," he says.

 

Neil settles back into the pillows again, and Kevin slips one hand up and into his hair, stroking through it until he shuts his eyes.

 

* * *

 

_I wanted to tell you. And I'm not saying that to ask for forgiveness, I'm saying it because it's true. I thought about it all the time. I knew there were things you weren't telling me, either, and I thought about those, too. I wondered if I did tell you, would you finally spill all the secrets you were hiding?_

 

_Bur after you told me about Riko and your hand, I started to speculate. It figured that he'd be like the rest of his family— and if they were connected to my family, that didn't mean anything good. Maybe I should have realised that if you ever saw that binder, you'd think I was a spy, but I didn't think you ever would see it._

 

_That was my fault. I'd gotten comfortable. Careless. My mother would have beaten me black and blue if she'd been around to see it. But she wasn't— Everything I said about that was true. My father caught up with us, and he killed her. I've been running from him ever since that night we left Baltimore, and I'm still... Sometimes I can't believe he's really gone, and I don't have to look over my shoulder anymore._

 

_After I left PSU, though? He was still out there, and I was more scared than ever. I was on my own again, and it felt like I'd forgotten everything I ever knew about staying safe. I felt slow and stupid and like everything I did was a mistake. I was... Paranoid, I guess; convinced he'd pick me up any second— I couldn't breathe, couldn't think, couldn't decide what to do._

 

_The only thing I had going for me was that he didn't know for sure I was still still alive. I wasn't with my mother when he caught her; we were only in Seattle to pick up new IDs, and we were using somebody we'd used before, which was dumb and dangerous, but we didn't have a choice. We needed to get back into Canada, and what we were travelling on then wouldn't cut it._

 

_She hadn't told the guy she was coming, so he didn't know that I was still with her, but my father must have figured out where we'd go because they were lying in wait when she got there. I was two blocks East with the car, and she only just made it back. She said she told him I was dead, but that we couldn't trust it to hold. That_ _I_ _couldn't trust it. That I couldn't trust that or anyone or anything else, either. That I had to keep running, and keep changing my name._

 

_And then she died. And I was alone._

 

_I thought it was bad, then._

 

_I didn't realise how much worse it could get until after I had to leave PSU, and Coach, and the Foxes, and you. Being alone when you'd always been lonely was bad; being alone when you'd had a life and friends and somebody who cared about you was..._

 

_Between that and the paranoia that I was screwing up every five minutes, I couldn't take it._

 

_So I did the thing I always promised myself I wouldn't: I went to my uncle._

 

_I hitched my way down as far as Jacksonville and called him from there— I had to tell him about mom. He didn't take it well, but he still showed up the next morning, though he said it would be another week before he could get me a passport to bring me home._

 

_When he said the word, I thought of Palmetto, and it was only then I realised there was no way I could go back to England with him._

 

_He didn't take that so well, either, but he was fired up about what had happened to mom, and he said he thought he had a plan to deal with my father... And I said I'd help, and that I'd give him—_

 

_Do you know about the money she stole from the Moriyamas?_

 

* * *

 

"I know," Kevin says, watching Neil absorb the information. "They didn't involve me in the business much, didn't even involve Riko in the business much, but we knew because of you, because you were supposed to be one of us. Because for a while the Master and your father thought you would _still_ be one of us if they recovered you quickly enough, but the older you got the harder it would have been— and eventually you were considered old enough that in their view, you should have known your place and returned to them of your own free will."

 

"But I had no idea," Neil marvels. "Jesus, it never occurred to them that she just never told me?"

 

"Apparently not," Kevin says, electing to keep quiet that it had never occurred to him, either.

 

"I thought she stole the money from my father, and that he and the Moriyamas were allies or maybe business partners, and I never knew why she picked that weekend to take me, or why she hated how much I loved Exy. _God_ ," he adds, groaning and burrowing into Kevin's shoulder. "In retrospect, I feel kind of stupid."

 

"You're not stupid," Kevin says firmly, and Neil raises his face, looking skeptical.

 

"You don't think it was idiotic not to push for those answers, and for drawing the conclusions I did?"

 

"I think sometimes it's safer and saner not to ask," Kevin says quietly, and kisses him: a soft and gentle thing that leaves Neil boneless against him. "...And you were working with a very limited number of hard facts."

 

"I guess I thought we had more time," Neil admits, tucking his face away again. "And that was stupid, too. I knew what my father was like. I understood the danger we were in. I guess I just believed that eventually she'd tell me everything."

 

"And instead you found out from your uncle?"

 

"I didn't want to ask him. I didn't want to go near him, to begin with. When we left Baltimore, that was our first stop, and he wasn't exactly pleasant about it. I thought it was just because he was... Like my father. I tended to assume every man in that age group was a threat, and he was so angry with my mother over everything that had happened that he didn't do much to dispel that notion, then.

 

But I had nobody else, and I couldn't be sure I wasn't about to be followed, so I started to really consider it, and..." He shrugs. "I'd spent enough time with Coach to realise maybe part of it had been my bias, and that maybe part of it had been that he was upset with my mom about everything. Marrying my dad, having me, not standing up to him better...

 

"I guess when you're out of options, you start considering whether or not the one avenue left open to you is really as bad as you thought it was. But it worked out okay."

 

His smile is slow in coming, and it's soft... But it's genuine, and it touches Kevin in a way that makes his throat close.

 

"I gave Uncle Stuart the money to give to the Moriyamas, and I told him to say he found it in my father's house during the attack— that my father had killed me along with my mother, and taken back the rest of the money, and lied to the Moriyamas about it.

 

"I wasn't sure they'd believe him, but they did— so they took everything my father had as payment for the rest of money my mother took. As part of their agreement, Stuart agreed to sign a petition to have me declared legally dead, which meant there was nobody to contest the will that miraculously turned up donating all of my father's business assets to the Moriyama's various trusts and charities.

 

"So now the debt is paid. They got back everything she took from them— and more, for his _disloyalty_."

 

Neil looks particularly pleased by that, by the prospect that his father's legacy with the people he worked for won't be one of success and honour, but one of shame and failure. Kevin's not sure Nathan Wesninski lived long enough to know about it, but maybe that's not the point. Maybe the point was just Neil getting back at him for all the years he lived with an axe over his neck, but Kevin doesn't care about revenge, he only cares about what this means for the future, and what it seems to mean is that Neil doesn't have to be afraid anymore.

 

"Thank god," he says hoarsely, but Neil's not finished yet, and when he speaks again he looks more triumphant than ever.

 

"But it was more than that. Because of what he told them, they took out the rest of his lieutenants, too, because they couldn't be trusted. They're all gone, Kevin— Lola, Patrick, Jackson, Romero... All of them, everyone who would remember me as a child. The only people left were you and the Master and Riko— so now, there's really just you.

 

"My father is dead. Kengo Moriyama is dead. _Nathaniel Wesninski_ is dead, Kevin. There's nobody chasing me anymore."

 

Kevin registers the words, but he doesn't really believe them, not at first.

 

"You're serious," he says finally, watching Neil's smile broaden and broaden until he's almost as bright as the sun.

 

"I'm free," he says, and Kevin takes his face in both hands before he kisses him.

 

This time it's less gentle, and ends with Neil pushing Kevin back onto the bed and sitting across his hips for a while, both hands in Kevin's hair. Neil kisses him like it might be the last chance he ever gets, and something in that triggers enough alarm bells in Kevin's fuzzy, kiss-hazed head that he pushes Neil back a little bit.

 

"So what happens now?"

 

It is the question he has been avoiding asking since he first spotted Neil sitting on the hood of his car outside.

 

"That's not just up to me," Neil says, rolling himself off Kevin and gathering the sheet around himself. "There are two of us here, Kevin."

 

"And you'll just do whatever I tell you?"

 

"Only on the court," Neil says, and Kevin gives him an unimpressed look.

 

"And only that occasionally," he says.

 

Neil laughs for a minute, but sobers up pretty quickly.

 

"You never answered my question. Are you playing again?"

 

"Yes," Kevin says, and then takes a deep breath; Neil had lit up at that affirmation, but Kevin's not sure how he's going to take the rest. "It won't be announced for a few months, but when the new season starts, I'm taking your old spot as Starting Striker."

 

Neil's expression wavers between unhappiness and victorious before the latter wins out and he pounces Kevin to the bed; triumphant, his sheets are again forgotten.

 

"Kevin," he says, and his eyes are full of fire. "I thought— Well, I'd hoped when I—"

 

He cuts himself off, looking uncertain, and Kevin brushes one thumb over his lips. Flat on his back like this, Neil is the only thing he can see, and it's the best view he's had in a long time. 

 

"Tell me. I need to know, Neil."

 

"It was me," Neil says, and something releases in Kevin's chest, some kind of tightness he didn't know he'd been holding onto. "It was me. I was the source. After everything my uncle told me, I understood why you could never get back on the court as long as Riko was still playing. After everything _you_ told me, I knew he'd deserve anything I could do to him... And I also knew that the stress of losing his father and the Championship, one right after the other, would set him off. That it was the best opportunity I was ever going to have— I knew that before the game even started, so I did some... Preparation," he says, shrugging.

 

"I watched the game from Vancouver, and I was hoping the Ravens would lose." He shoots Kevin a very tiny smile. "You were always so hyped for the Trojans that I guess maybe it rubbed off on me, and I figured the Ravens might have been in trouble without you, and _with_ Riko such a mess.

 

"When the final buzzer went, I got the prepaid phone and voice enhancer that I'd bought, and I called ten separate news outlets. You know how many failed Ravens end up hospitalised or dead— I told them my brother was one of them, and I was tired of them getting away with it, and that if they wanted the scoop of the year, they should sneak back into Evermore's dorms after they kick everyone out."

 

"But—" Kevin starts, and Neil holds up a hand.

 

"I don't know how they did it— if they hid or if they bribed somebody to get the access codes or they kicked the damn door in. I'm betting I wasn't the only one with an axe to grind when it came to Evermore— Maybe when they applied a little pressure, all kinds of things started to give.

 

All I know for sure is that some of them succeeded, and that they have no reason to associate anything that happened with Neil Josten _or_ Nathaniel Wesninski— and definitely not with Kevin Day, who was a thousand miles away, watching the game at Palmetto. Whoever they come looking for should be able to prove that it wasn't them, but either way, it's not our problem."

 

The callousness in those words should probably bother Kevin, but he spent so long underground in Castle Evermore that all they do is fill him with a kind of cold pride at Neil's cleverness, a warm relief at his desire to protect Kevin... And a creeping terror at how much danger he put himself in with what he'd done.

 

"My god, Neil, what the hell were you thinking?" he snaps, and Neil recoils a little.

 

"I was _thinking_ that at least this way, one of us could play," he says, then softens a little. "I needed you to be all right, Kevin. And I knew that as long as he was between you and the court, you never would be."

 

All of Kevin's resolve to be angry with him dissolves at that, dumping bitter, frightened love into his bloodstream, so all he can do is wrap his arms around Neil's waist and pull his body tight to Kevin's own.

 

"I won't be all right without you playing with me," he says, and Neil makes a choked sound at that.

 

"Kevin, I can't—"

 

"Don't give me _can't_ ," Kevin snaps, pulling back to look at him. "You said we were done with apologies. We need to be done with _can't_ , too. Everybody who remembers you is dead. That means it will be safe for you to come back. All we need to do is figure out what the hell we're going to do about your paperwork."

 

Neil stares at him, incredulous.

 

"You really mean it."

 

"Of course I _mean it_ , Neil. Do you think my father wouldn't take you back? That Matt and Dan and Bobby don't miss you? That the line doesn't need you? Everybody loves you," he says, and when he sees a question brewing in Neil's eyes, Kevin hurries on before he can ask it and derail the conversation entirely. "I told you, I'm taking your old spot as Starting Striker from next season— but I have nobody to pair with. Without Seth, there's just me and Tina and the new recruit we have coming in from Texas. We've had nothing but disasters since she replaced you, and I know you know it. The new kid is good, but he's not you, and I'm not going to get all summer with him.

 

"We need to start winning again, like we did when we had you. With the loss of the Master, the Ravens are going to be in disarray for a couple of seasons. The Trojans won this year, but they're losing half their defensive front to the Pros next season—" he says, and then winces. "I might actually have made a rod for our backs there by giving them Jean, but... It'll be fun to try, and to know we actually have a chance. Which, with the Ravens out of the picture and you at my side, we actually do."

 

Neil says nothing, just looks at him with those too-blue eyes, and Kevin feels his chest tighten. His fingers trace repeatedly along Neil's jaw, and it occurs to him that he can't quite seem to stop touching Neil now.

 

That might be a problem later, but only if he can solve the current problem first. Given what he now knows about Neil, he thinks he knows exactly how to do it, though.

 

"You belong with us," he says firmly. "You have to come back to Palmetto."

 

Neil looks like there is nothing more in the world he wants, but he still hesitates, so Kevin plays his last card.

 

"Come home, Neil. Come home, and play with me."

 

Neil works his fingers into Kevin's hair and pulls him into another of those desperate, full-bodied kisses,but this time he doesn't seem so much like he's holding onto Kevin in fear of losing him, and Kevin knows he's won.

 

 _They've_ won.

 

When Neil pulls back, he's breathless and flushed and looks the happiest Kevin has ever seen him.

 

The touching will _definitely_ be a problem in the future, because there is no way he could keep his hands off Neil now, especially not when he butts up into Kevin's touch with all the contentment of a cat... But right now, Kevin can't find it in himself to care. He has Neil back and exactly where he wants him, and nothing is taking priority over that for a while.

 

"We'll work everything out," he says quietly, pressing a soft kiss to the corner of Neil's mouth. "I won't pretend I know how yet, but we will. The paperwork, the school board— We'll find a way of fixing it, I promise. As long as you come back, we will find a way."

 

"There's something I should tell you," Neil says, and Kevin's stomach jumps a little; those are rarely good words, and almost certainly not in a situation like this, but Neil presses a hand over his heart and pushes him back down onto the bed.

 

"It's not a bad thing, Kevin, it's just— I gave my uncle conditions along with the money, and one of them was that I was out. All the way out. I'm not a Wesninski anymore— and I didn't want to be a Hatford, either. Stuart doesn't like it, but he knows he got the better part of that trade: it costs a lot to forge an entirely new identity, but a lot less backstop one you already have."

 

"Neil," Kevin sighs. "I might have lived with Riko all those years, but they didn't exactly involve me in the business, so the finer points of the underworld are not my speciality. What exactly are you telling me?"

 

"I'm saying that I didn't want a new identity, Kevin. You knew where to find me. Didn't that tell you anything?

 

"I didn't—" Kevin starts, and then sighs. "I didn't know I'd _find_ you here. It never occurred to me that you'd actually be _living_ here. I thought you'd hear on the news that this was where I was, and that you'd take it as a sign that I wanted to see you."

 

Neil looks at him for a long time, then finally shakes his head.

 

" _God_ , you're an idiot," he says. "Kevin, nobody's been talking to the press about you. There hasn't been one story, didn't you notice?"

 

"I just— I assumed one came out this morning, and I hadn't seen it yet," Kevin objects, and Neil puts a hand over his face.

 

"Oh, _Kevin_. It was only luck I overheard someone talking about the big _sports celebrity_ staying at the Inn— I wasn't looking for you, because you were supposed to be looking for _me_. What were you going to do if nobody wrote about you?"

 

"I would have leaked something," Kevin says, feeling slightly miffed by the way Neil looks as though he's exhausted from explain a simple concept to a particularly slow child.

 

"Well I'm glad you didn't, because the last thing we need right now is the press sniffing around, not considering I've been here this whole time. Waiting," he adds, nudging Kevin gently, "For you to come and find me. Where did you think I'd be?"

 

"I had no idea," Kevin says quietly. "No idea where in the world to look. And I didn't want to rattle any cages in case it got you into trouble. I thought I'd just come here, and... Send up a flare. Then you could come if you wanted to, or if you were with your mother's people and you wanted to keep that life, then I wouldn't be screwing it up for you."

 

Neil looks at him for a long time, then leans forward and drops a light kiss at the corner of his mouth.

 

"I never wanted that life. I came here so you could find me, but I guess maybe I do have a life here, instead. I have an apartment, and a job. That's my car outside." He presses his lips together, looking at Kevin with an amused sort of frustration. "...You thought I stole it, didn't you?"

 

"Well..." Kevin says, and Neil starts to laugh.

 

It's a good sound, so much so that Kevin can't even bother to be too embarrassed about how wrong he'd been.

 

"I picked somewhere I'd talked to you about so you could find me," he says eventually. "I guess that was a gamble, too, but I wanted... I didn't want to abandon everything I'd had at Palmetto. Everything I _felt_. I wanted to be somewhere you could find me, and I wanted a name that felt like my own— an _identity_ that felt like my own."

 

It takes Kevin a minute to process that —to remember how the receptionist had called him Neil, to think about what it meant for him to have rented someplace and bought a car— and he blinks at Neil slowly. 

 

"It's not proper or legal," Neil continues. "It'll never really be official, but it'll hold up. What you said about my _paperwork_... I have all the documents I need, and now nobody's coming after me, it won't matter anyway."

 

Hope leaps in Kevin's throat, a new and terrifying creature that he is only beginning to learn to manage.

 

"So... You're saying you're really Neil Josten now?"

 

"And you're really Kevin Day," Neil says, giving him a small, sly smile.

 

"Neil, I've always been Kevin Day."

 

"No," he says quietly, tracing the faded scar where his tattoo once marked his place in Riko's games. "I was wrong when I told you that before. They might not have involved you in the business, but I think for a long time, you were really Kevin Moriyama, and that the number on your face would have been better as a three than a two. Riko was always second himself, and that's why he put so much into keeping you down. Because he didn't know anything else."

 

He meets Kevin's eyes again, and his gaze is steady.

 

"But now he's gone, and there's nothing standing between you and first place."

 

"Except his brother," Kevin says, and Neil gives a quiet snort.

 

"He doesn't care about Exy, and with Riko out of your life, that's the only first place that matters," Neil says, and the amount of surprised disdain in his voice makes Kevin fall for him all over again, but there's something about that which worries him, too.

 

"While we are in the area of confessions," he says, and watches Neil's expression tighten. "There's something I should tell you, too. You told your uncle you were out. I understand that. But I'm not— I can't be. The only way I could get back on the court was to cut a deal with the incumbent Lord Moriyama, and that included a tithe and certain responsibilities with the ERC and other associations."

 

Neil's expression continues to darken; Kevin pulls back a little bit in response, but Neil's fingers tighten where they've rested on his neck and on his hip.

 

"I won't be out until I retire," Kevin says finally. "And I'm going to keep playing as long as I can. I need to. But if that changes this, or us, I'll understa—"

 

Neil only lets go of him long enough to press one hand over Kevin's mouth.

 

" _Don't_."

 

Kevin just looks at him, at the intensity in his eyes, and nods slowly until Neil takes his hand away and returns it to Kevin's side.

 

"Nothing will change this," he says, and Kevin feels so much relief at those words that he could melt right into the bed and into Neil, and sleep for a month. "Nothing. I won't let it."

 

It sounds like a promise, and it's the best thing Kevin has ever heard, but he still has to ask—

 

"What about your life here?"

 

"I can come back," Neil says, and the softness in his voice when he says it wounds Kevin's heart. "I'm Neil here, so I can come back any time I want... It's the first place that I've ever been able to go back to," he adds quietly, before looking at Kevin again. "Besides Palmetto, if they'll have me."

 

"Of course they'll have you," Kevin scoffs. "I told you: I need a partner."

 

Neil lights up at those words, and Kevin pulls him into another kiss which distributes the glow a little more evenly between them. When they part, Neil tucks himself under Kevin's chin, and Kevin feels more settled than he ever has.

 

"So we're agreed," he says eventually. "We can come back here any time you want— but for right now? You come home with me, and you come as Neil Josten, and we play together for as long as we can."

 

Neil props himself up on his elbows and looks down at Kevin.

 

"And this?" Neil says, indicating the lack of space between them. "I don't want to hide anything more than I have to."

 

"I'm not your Coach anymore, Neil," Kevin reminds him, and the corners of Neil's mouth turn upwards. "The Foxes have had inter-team relations from the beginning. Dan and Matt, Seth and Allison... Evan and Bobby started something up not long after you left. This is nothing new."

 

"It's new for you," Neil says, neatly side-stepping the part where it's just as new for him as it is for Kevin, and that the team will probably make a big deal about that, too.

 

"Everything good in my life besides Exy is new," Kevin says, and he sees Neil's expression flicker darkly again. He wonders if he'll ever get used to that, to seeing reminders that Neil is the Butcher's son, and thinks perhaps he already has.

 

His genetics made him Nathaniel Wesninski, but his choices have made him Neil Josten, just like Kevin's choices have made him Kevin Day— though sometimes, late at night, he considers adding _Wymack_ to the mix.

 

If his father can help him pull off getting Neil back on the team, he might just have to follow through on that; it seems unfair that Neil should have been burdened with his terrible father's name when all he brought his son was pain and fear, but that Kevin still doesn't carry Wymack's even now, after all he has done for him.

 

Unlike Neil, Kevin looks more like his mother, and he thinks maybe taking his name would be a gesture Wymack would appreciate. Even if he doesn't, he thinks there's still something worthy in the doing of it. And as for Neil...

 

Kevin looks over auburn hair and blue eyes, and the only thing he sees is Neil, but he's not so blind as to think that will be true of everyone.

 

"I like those new things, Neil, but... Your new look might have to go. Temporarily, at least; a fleeing fox returning will make only small waves, but it would help if you didn't look completely different, to boot."

 

"Fine, I don't care," Neil says, almost too quickly, and Kevin opens his mouth to protest, but Neil hurries on: "I really don't, Kevin. I thought I'd give it a try because I was safe and I was tired of having to hide, but now I'm tired of seeing my father's face every time I look in the mirror."

 

Kevin can understand that; it's exactly how he had eventually begun to feel about seeing Riko's number.

 

"It doesn't have to be forever. You go back to the brown for a while, and then maybe over winter break you can dye it blond, or switch to grey contacts, or get a piercing. So long as you come back looking like you did when you left, people will get used to you changing things over time, and in a few years, you can settle with whatever you like— whether it's this, or how you looked when you came to PSU first, or something new entirely."

 

Neil considers this, stretching out at Kevin's side and still managing to keep one hand on him, something which brings a slow, pleased smile to Kevin's lips, because it is boundlessly gratifying to know that he isn't the only one who wants to keep touching.

 

"I'd like that," he says, eventually. "But the thing that really matters is that I can come back."

 

Kevin rolls away from him to the edge of the bed and tries to hook his fingers into the strap of his bag and pull it closer without having to actually get out of the bed. Neil laughs at that and gets out instead, grabbing the bag and handing it to Kevin.

 

"You're so fucking laz—" he says as Kevin rummages in the side pocket before drawing out a set of keys and holding them up.

 

Neil's voice dies mid-word, his recriminations forgotten at the sight of the the keys dangling from Kevin's fingers.

 

"Not _back_ ," Kevin corrects gently. "What matters is that you can come _home_ , Neil."

 

Neil lifts the keys from his hand and stares at them for a little while, then wraps his arms tightly around Kevin without ever letting go of them, the little metal teeth biting into both their skin. It's a welcome pain, though— which is probably the most accurate descriptor of Neil that he's ever considered.

 

All of this is a welcome pain, Neil in particular.

 

"Home," he repeats, and the wonder and hope in his voice sound exactly like Kevin feels. They still have a lot to work out, since it won't be easy figuring out how to deal with his father or with the team— not to mention with the school board, the NCAA, the press, the fans... The list is almost endless, but he has Neil in his arms, a future he's no longer afraid to reach for, and a home to go back to.

 

In the absence of so much of what they should have had, they've come this far.

 

Everything else, they can figure out on the way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And there it is: the end.
> 
> Again: thank you to everyone who has read, kudosed, commented, reblogged, and otherwise supported this story as I was posting. You guys are the real MVPs, and your support has, on occasion, provided some of the brightest spots in my days over the past weeks. Never underestimate the impact you can have by leaving comments for the writers whose work you are enjoying: it's hard putting things out into the void not knowing if anyone will like them, and it's both gratifying and soothing when people come back to you to say _Hey, I read this thing, and it was a good thing_. I just appreciate it so much. Thank you, thank you, and thank you again. ❤️
> 
> You might note this ends in a very similar way to one of my [Kandrew Week stories](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13808781/chapters/31751193), and that's kind of intentional, because both those verses mirror one another: in this, Neil and Kevin without Andrew, and in the other, Andrew and Kevin without Neil. The presence or absence of either alters so much, and it's been really fun to play around with both possibilities.
> 
> If you're not a Kandreil fan, this is where the story ends for you: Neil and Kevin go back to PSU to rebuild their life, and they make it a good one. It takes some sorting out, but between Kevin and Coach, they're able to finesse Neil back onto the team. He never shares the truth of his past with his Foxes, but he does make clear that he has a history he isn't telling— and he stops lying, too, which allows them to build real friendships. The team grows around him just as in canon; the Foxes go from strength to strength, and finally claim a Championship in Neil's fourth year— Kevin's last. He graduates to a small team with potential, and he brings Neil aboard fresh out of PSU a year later (Kevin, having missed a year while he was coaching, gets a little more time at PSU with Neil than in canon). Eventually, their team tears up the Pro league, and Neil joins Kevin on Court not long after. 
> 
> Neil quits using the contacts a few months after he comes home, but he rotates his hair colour every year or so, and never quite lets it return to its natural state, not even after he graduates. Kevin spends a lot of time with his father, and slowly rebuilds his relationship with Jean and with Thea to the point that the four of them can play together on Court without too many problems. He and Neil get a place together, then a dog, and a cat; they even toss around the idea of adopting a child. They visit Montana often, where Neil is welcomed with open arms, and occasionally people comment on how they knew there was something about that boy, and now look: he's famous. 
> 
> They bicker over where to order dinner from, and the best racquet grip, and whether or not Coach has made the right calls on recruitment this year— both Wymack and the coach of their professional team. Neil prods Kevin to go back to Ireland one summer, and Kevin prods Neil to come to England for a week while they're there. They reconnect with their families, and while they and the Foxes will always be their closest kin, there's something nice about knowing those aren't the only people in the world who matter to them. Neil bonds with some of the people on their Pro team; Kevin with the best and brightest of their Court fellows. Their social circles overlap, but aren't exactly the same, and that's fine. Speaking of _fine_ — Neil says that word less and less until it reaches the point where Kevin no longer gets angry when he hears it, and Neil never has to wonder what secrets Kevin is keeping because there are none left between them.
> 
> They're safe, and they're _happy_ , and they have everything they ever thought to want.
> 
> ...And if you _are_ a Kandreil fan? You can read the Kandreil HC epilogue [here](https://onlycareaboutexy.tumblr.com/post/176314988049/what-we-become-in-the-absence-a-kandreil-epilogue)!
> 
> Thanks again for reading, everybody. ❤️


End file.
